


Some Time (No Matter Where)

by Auber_Gine_Dreams



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Arranged Marriage, Daddy Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Fate & Destiny, First Aid, First Time, Graphic wound treatment, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, On the Run, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Too Many Mingyus For One Jun, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting, War, dramarama au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/pseuds/Auber_Gine_Dreams
Summary: “Is there a place where you aren’t on the run?” Mingyu asks. Junhui hums. The crane walks further down the beach.“If there is, I haven’t found it yet.” Junhui decides to say something a little true, a little dangerous. “It’s not like I’ve met another me that could tell me.”Mingyu looks away, staring at the dark water as the last of the sun’s rays dip below the horizon.“I haven’t either.”
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 131
Kudos: 172
Collections: ENFANT D'ÉTÉ - ROUND 1





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give a huge thanks to the Junfest mods. This has been such a joy to work on!!!! It's been a long time coming and I'm thrilled to be able to finally share it with everyone!!!
> 
>   
> This is something I've always wanted to try my hand at writing!! I'm glad I got the opportunity and I hope that I did my prompt justice!!!
> 
> Title is from "Find You" by Monsta X.
> 
> Now that reveals are out, I can finally share my playlist!! Take a trip with Jun [here!!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3uaYNu7HVCGpMWbm428s2z?si=5VxA9bbsRZiQM85k13CElg)

_A man moves through time_  
 _It means nothing except that, like a harpoon_  
 _once thrown, he will arrive._ \- Anne Carson

Minghao is dressed in a sleek black suit. His hair is silver, long enough that it’s definitely against regulation, but it’s not like Xu Minghao would really be capable of getting fired at this point in his career.

He’s the only official that has been able to find Chae Hyungwon, and now he’s found Junhui.

Minghao is sitting next to him on a park bench in California. It’s 1994. Neither of them are supposed to be here. Minghao passes him a cigarette and Junhui accepts it like this is any other day, the two of them blending into the scenery around them.

“Off the record,” Minghao says. His voice is surprisingly gentle for someone who managed to hunt down and nearly apprehend the most wanted man in history. “I know the first time was an accident. I know you found the watch and you didn’t know how it worked. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t have gone on the list for it.”

Minghao turns toward him, his eyes hard. “You decided to start working for Chae Hyungwon. Why?”

There are a hundred different answers to that question, but only a few of them are easy.

“The money,” Junhui says carefully, looking away from the intensity of Minghao’s gaze. “You wouldn’t believe the amount he offered me even if I told you.”

It’s a lie, and Junhui is pretty sure Minghao can tell it’s a lie. It feels kind of like Minghao is peeling back the layers of Junhui’s skin, digging through the muscle and peering straight into his soul. It’s unnerving.

“You don’t strike me as the type for such dangerous work. There’s something else. What did he offer you?”

It sits there, like a physical weight in Junhui’s chest. Of course there’s something else. There is a name on his lips, beautiful in every language he’s heard it spoken in, shining eyes and gentle smiles and hands that feel like fire even when all they do is brush his bangs off his forehead. 

Junhui takes another drag off Minghao’s cigarette before passing it back to him.

“Off the record,” Junhui says.

Minghao holds up his hands, turns the watch on his wrist so Junhui can see the face and powers it off.

“Off the record.” 

Junhui will not risk giving someone like Xu Minghao the whole truth. Not even close to it.

“Hyungwon can do a lot more than travel through time, but you already know that. He offered me a trade. I work for him, and when the job is done he gives me something that only _he_ can.”

Minghao’s eyebrows shoot up. This isn’t the answer he’s expecting. See, the thing about opening someone up is that it goes both ways, gazing into the abyss and all that.

“Valuable enough that you’d risk everything?”

Junhui shrugs. It’s another answer Minghao doesn’t deserve.

“So now that you’ve found me, what will you do?” Junhui asks, narrowing his eyes and glancing down at his shoes before focusing on Minghao’s chin. “Take me back? Lock me up?”

Minghao chuckles, an almost pleasant sound that sends shivers down Junhui’s spine.

“It won’t be that easy, Wen Junhui. Not for either of us. You’re up to something, I can feel it, and I won’t take you in until I know just what that is. I can find you whenever and wherever I want. Don’t forget it.”

Junhui tries not to think of sandy brown hair and warm brown eyes and sun kissed skin when Minghao powers his watch back on and vanishes from his side. He tries not to think about anything at all.


	2. 2047/2017

_Someone will remember us  
_ _I say  
_ _Even in another time  
_ _-Sappho_

  
  
  
  
  


The first time is an accident. A careless mistake. Junhui is walking down the street when something shiny catches his attention. There, in the alley between an old coffee shop and an apartment complex, sits a watch. 

The watch is old, the band made of faded leather. It has a huge face that’s got a few smaller clocks inside. His current one is more like a computer than an actual time telling device. There’s a weird button on the side of the old watch, bigger than it should be. The face is frozen on the year: 2047.

Junhui leans against the wall and looks at it more carefully. The afternoon sun is beating down on him, but he can’t feel the heat. He touches the button on the side. It moves easily under his fingers, a dial of some kind, and when he turns it, the year on the face changes. He flicks it fast, watches the numbers tick down, and as he moves to stop it he pushes the button in.

Something very strange happens. 

Everything goes a little hazy, like summer air on asphalt, and it feels like he trips over nothing, falling for the briefest moment before everything is normal again. 

The world around him comes back in stages. The air is warm, the breeze clean and refreshing. A child shouts and runs down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. A siren wails in the distance. Junhui shakes his head and takes a breath. It doesn’t quite rid him of the feeling that something is a little off, but it does help. He glances up at the apartment complex and coffee shop. The sign seems different, freshly painted, letters a gleaming navy, almost wet looking. Junhui’s been coming to this coffee shop since university, and it’s nice to see the subtle improvement. He pockets the old watch and walks inside.

The first hint that something is actually off is the shop’s menu. They’ve never really upgraded to the latest technology here. That’s part of what Junhui likes about the shop, the tiny bit of nostalgia from his childhood. Most shop menus in 2047 are holograms, interactive and run by AI, but here they’ve always had a digital menu, twin computer screens displaying drinks and prices. Except now it’s even more vintage, written in chalk on a blackboard behind the counter. Junhui’s heart gives a hard thud against his chest. He walks up to the counter anyway and orders his usual.

The second hint that something strange is happening to him is that the barista can’t seem to scan his watch for payment.

She looks at him expectantly. He stares back.

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have Apple Pay here,” she says apologetically. “Do you have a card with you?”

Junhui pales.

“A...I’m sorry, a _card payment_?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t sound rude. He taps the front of his watch again, opening his profile and clicking the payment screen to refresh it. “Do you mind trying this again? It was working just fine yesterday.”

The barista gives him a tight, polite smile. “Of course.”

She gives it a valiant effort, even using a barcode scanner from a different register. Nothing happens. Her smile is a little more pained.

“I’m sorry, sir. Are you sure you don’t have another form of payment?” 

Junhui takes a breath. He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry. This is really all I have —” he starts, but he’s cut off by a man stepping up to the counter next to him.

“Add it to mine, Haneul.”

Junhui and the barista turn to look at the man at the same time. Young man is more accurate. He looks like he’s around Junhui’s age, dressed in a navy sweater with some university logo on the front. It looks like the same one he went to, only the logo isn’t quite right. He’s a little taller than Junhui, too, brown hair hanging at his eyebrows and slight dark circles under his eyes. 

Junhui realized he’s staring and, instead, holds his hands out in front of him as a spike of panic shoots through him.

“You don’t have to do that. It’s fine, really, I —”

The guy hands over his card and Haneul takes it, and that basically ends the discussion. Junhui accepts his iced americano defeatedly.

“Thank you. I’m really sorry about this,” he says, face burning. “If you give me your name I can try to pay you back.”

Junhui looks up from his watch and the guy stares at him.

“Mingyu. Uh, Kim Mingyu,” he says. 

“I’m Wen Junhui, or Jun if you want,” Junhui replies. He walks to his favorite corner booth and Mingyu follows him.

Junhui sips his americano and Mingyu watches, almost transfixed, as he clicks around the screen in an attempt to locate Kim Mingyu’s profile. His data says he’s roaming. He’s barely got a signal, much less a working search function. 

“I can try by your birthday,” Junhui says absently, and when he glances up Mingyu’s giving him an almost coy smile. 

“Are you gonna ask for my number next?” He takes a sip of his latte. “It’s not that much. You don’t have to worry about paying me back.”

Junhui’s face goes hot again. It’s not a gesture he’s comfortable with, but he accepts defeat and settles back against the booth.

“Well, thank you again. You’re a student at the university?” he asks. Mingyu nods. “What are you studying? I graduated last year. Biomechanical engineering.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows shoot up and he laughs. It’s cute. _He’s cute_ , Junhui realizes.

“Photography and graphic design. I can’t believe I’ve never seen you on campus. I didn’t even know that was a major. Maybe we just attended classes in different buildings.”

Junhui smiles. The air between them is comfortable, easy. It’s nice. 

“Well, you know how it is,” he says, eyes flicking down to his watch then back to Mingyu’s face, “You’re so busy with class and then you graduate and the world swallows you up. I walk by this coffee shop every day and I’ve never seen you before, either. Do you come here often?”

Mingyu nods. “At least twice a week. I always sit here, too. It’s kind of funny that you picked this spot, actually.”

Junhui feels that sense of strangeness again, that almost wrongness. He does his best to ignore it. 

It’s strange because _he_ always sits here, too, but he can’t find the words to tell Mingyu that this is why he chose this spot. It’s tucked away enough to feel intimate, but open enough that if someone sat with you, it wouldn’t feel awkward.

“We must just miss each other, then,” Junhui says. It feels like he forces the words out.

Things fall into a relaxed quiet between them. Junhui sips his coffee and does his best to shake the strangeness away. There’s a song playing over the speaker. It’s an old one, something his parents listen to sometimes when they’re feeling nostalgic. He doesn’t realize he’s humming along to the melody until he looks up and Mingyu’s eyes are wide.

Junhui frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Mingyu looks down at his hands like he’s trying to figure out how to say something unpleasant. Junhui’s heart thuds roughly in his chest.

“You already know this song and it’s only just been made available to stream. You must be like...a super fan or something.”

The strangeness that Junhui has been trying to stave off swallows him whole. He squeezes his hand together on the table and fights to keep his breathing even and the panic off his face.

It would be easier to deal with, somehow, if the whole thing were impossible. But in 2047, it’s just illegal.

Mingyu’s eyes search his face, concern replacing confusion. He reaches out and their hands are almost touching, like he wants to do something to make Junhui feel better but he’s not sure if it's allowed. They’ve only just met.

“Mingyu. This is going to be a strange question, but,” Junhui starts. He swallows around the panic clawing up his throat. “Can you tell me what the date is today? Month day and year?”

Mingyu is nice enough to not look at him like he’s totally lost it. 

“It’s the 26th of May. 2017.”

Junhui’s hands shake and no amount of squeezing them together will get them to stop.

He’s broken the law. In a very, _very_ big way. Junhui has gone back in time 30 years, and what’s worse is that he has no idea how to get back.

Mingyu closes the space between their hands, throws his over top and it’s actually kind of comforting. The front of his watch lights up at the contact, blank screen mocking him. He almost laughs.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asks. 

Junhui doesn’t even know where to start. He tries to think back to conversations his parents had about life in this time. Would Mingyu even _believe_ him? Should he even try to explain what’s happened?

A lie might be better. Junhui sighs.

“The truth is that I’ve sort of run away from my life,” Junhui says. He looks down at Mingyu’s hand on top of his. The sound of his heart beat is still loud in his ears. “I made a mistake in only bringing one form of money. I don’t really know what to do. I’m not even sure how I can make it back home, or what will happen if I go back.”

Mingyu takes his hand away and Junhui sighs. When their eyes meet again, Mingyu’s got a strangely determined look on his face. 

“I know we just met but, if you don’t have anywhere to go, you can come to my dorm.” He runs a hand through the back of his hair. “At least until we figure out what to do.”

It’s a nice offer, far too nice, really emphasizes the differences in time. People don’t do things like this in 2047, not for strangers. Junhui was barely even this nice to his roommate, Jihoon, and they spent their entire four years at university together.

But maybe it’s just what he needs. Somewhere to hide away, out of sight, so he can think about how he got here and what he can do to get back. The watch in his pocket feels like it weighs a ton. 

At the very least, he can browse the internet and see if there are any clues.

“Are you sure?” Junhui asks, twisting his fingers together on the table. “I don’t want to bother you. You’ve probably got finals to study for or friends to catch up with.”

Mingyu laughs. Junhui feels the last bit of apprehension ease out of his chest. 

“It’s really no trouble at all.” Mingyu leans forward, almost like he’s telling a secret. “This probably sounds kind of weird, but it almost feels like something is telling me to help you.”

Junhui grins. “You’re religious? You don’t seem the type.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Not like that, just...a feeling.”

They finish their drinks and Junhui follows Mingyu out of the coffee shop.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

The university campus is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Most of the buildings are in the same place, but the shops are all different. Book stores with real books in them, a second hand store with huge black circles, _classic vinyls $5.99_. So much of the world around him is real, tangible things. In 2047, cars are self-driving and stop lights are holograms. The sign for their shared university, too, is a hologram in Junhui’s time, with a breeze blowing the flag in the background. 

The campus itself is largely unchanged. Fountains, traffic circles that make no sense, brick buildings. A new construction they walk past catches Junhui’s eye and he stops. 

“What’s this?” he asks. Mingyu turns and looks up at the scaffolding. 

“Supposed to be finished next year.” Mingyu laughs to himself. “They’re calling it Alumni Hall. Isn’t that a little too cliche?”

 _Oh_. That’s why.

Alumni is the hall Junhui lived in. It’s strange to see it like this, a skeleton of the place it will become, the place that Junhui experienced countless university firsts and lasts. It feels like someone walking over his grave. 

Mingyu keeps walking and soon enough they arrive at Commons Hall. It looks just as old as ever. Junhui rubs the numbers on the faded brick as they enter, and Mingyu watches him with an amused expression.

“Don't tell me you graduated last year _and_ you lived in Commons,” Mingyu says, an exasperated kind of smile on his face. Junhui looks at his fingertips, like he expects dust from the worn bricks to color them. There’s nothing. No evidence at all that he even touched them.

“A friend of mine lived here, fifth floor,” Junhui explains. He tries very hard not to think of Soonyoung, kind eyes and warm hugs and the extra helpings of his mother’s cooking he’s brought to Junhui since they met. “It’s some kind of dorm superstition, right?”

Mingyu nods. “It’s been what you do since my parents attended.”

They end up taking three flights of stairs before they make it to Mingyu’s dorm. It’s simple, a single bed, a desk, a huge pile of clothes on the floor. 

“It’s just you?” Junhui asks as he takes in the small space. At least there’s a window.

Mingyu nods again. His phone chimes in his pocket and he takes it out with a sigh.

“I have class until late. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

“Are you sure it’s no trouble?” Junhui asks, one more time, like at any moment Mingyu is going to realize how weird this is and change his mind. Were people really this nice in 2017?

Mingyu doesn’t even answer, just slings a backpack over his shoulder and walks out. Junhui sits down on the desk chair, brings a leg up and wraps his arm around it. The silence in the room is almost deafening. 

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

He endures the boredom as well as he can, but eventually Junhui has to find something to do. The first thing he tries is clicking around the home screen of his watch. There’s wifi, but he can’t seem to connect to it. He frowns and taps the connect button again. Nothing.

There is an ancient looking laptop on Mingyu’s desk. Well, it’s brand new in 2017, but Junhui has only ever seen computers like this in movies.

He opens it carefully, it’s heavier than it looks. It’s lucky that Mingyu doesn’t have a password, otherwise Junhui would be screwed. 

He finds his way onto the internet and the first thing he does is check news articles about time travel. Well, it’s more accurate to say he _tries_ to check news articles, but none exist. All he can find are fake news articles and conspiracy theory YouTube videos. Junhui sighs. Not only will Mingyu not believe him if he tells him the truth, it means that there’s no clue as to how he can get home. 

It’s a waiting game, then. Maybe there’s a time limit and he’ll just go back automatically after a day or two. Maybe as little as a few hours. He refuses to acknowledge the other possibility.

He’s browsing for maybe ten minutes when Mingyu’s computer starts to ping with notifications so often Junhui can’t stand it. He opens the application, something called Tinder. He doesn’t mean to look, really, it’s just that the screen is full of messages from girls and guys and Junhui catches a glimpse of a picture, shirt lifted and held in place by teeth, Mingyu’s entire upper body on display cutting off at the v of his hips. 

Junhui’s face is on fire. Mingyu is a college student, of course he hooks up with people. He just didn’t expect to see the evidence a few hours into knowing him. He closes the window quickly and takes a breath. Definitely too much information to learn about someone you just met.

He slams the laptop shut and scrubs his hands over his eyes. It doesn’t remove the afterimage as quickly as he wants it to.

There’s a book on Mingyu’s nightstand. The cover is worn, the pages dog-eared and well loved. Junhui rolls the desk chair over and picks it up. He can’t help but grin. _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_. Well, maybe Mingyu wouldn’t find his predicament so unbelievable, after all.

Junhui curls up in the chair, tucks his legs underneath him, and opens the book, losing himself in unfamiliar words of an old, old story his grandmother used to recite from memory.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

When Mingyu gets back Junhui is sprawled across his floor with an arm over his face. He looks up at the sound of the door closing, and when he blinks a tear leaks from the corner of his eye. He scrubs it away before Mingyu notices it, feigns a comically large yawn to cover it up.

“Let’s go,” Mingyu says as soon as his bag hits the floor.

Junhui blinks. “Go where?”

“We need food, obviously,” Mingyu says, “Don’t worry, I’ll get yours.”

Junhui’s face burns, and just as he opens his mouth to protest Mingyu takes his hand and pulls him to his feet easily. It feels strange, almost electric. They both look down at their joined hands at the same time. It feels way too comfortable, like they’ve done this before. Like Junhui has always known the solid weight of Mingyu’s hand.

They look up at the same time, eyes locked, both searching, both coming up empty. 

Mingyu’s hand slides away from his slowly. He licks his lips, swallowing audibly.

“So, uh, do you like spicy food?”

Junhui grins.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

It’s later, after they’ve eaten so much that Junhui actually feels bad about the bill, back in Mingyu’s dorm, that dread settles in his chest once again. Mingyu’s made himself comfortable on the floor, giving Junhui his bed. It’s monumentally kind, heavy inside of him with nowhere to go.

“Jun, can I ask you something?” Mingyu’s voice is just above a whisper. If he were actually asleep he wouldn’t have heard him.

Junhui rolls over onto his side, the shifting of the blankets loud in the stillness of the room.

“Yeah.”

Mingyu shifts too, and in the dimness Junhui can almost make out the features of his face.

“Have we met before?” Mingyu breathes it out, like the words are too heavy to give much weight to. They still hit Junhui full force, solid like a punch. “You said you graduated last year. I just,” Mingyu sighs and the blankets rustle as he adjusts, “I have the weirdest feeling, almost like deja vu.”

Junhui shakes his head, remembers Mingyu can’t see him in the darkness, and sighs.

“No. We definitely haven’t met. I wouldn’t forget someone like you.” Junhui’s face goes hot as soon as the words are out, embarrassment flashing through him.

“Someone like me?” He can practically hear Mingyu’s smirk. “What do you mean by that?”

Junhui wills the heat in his cheeks away. Mingyu can’t see it but his voice will definitely betray him, probably go all high pitched and Mingyu will know that Junhui saw his Tinder or whatever and that he hasn’t been able to forget about the way he looks under those university hoodies.

“You’re probably the kindest person I’ve ever met,” Junhui says when he feels like he won’t say something mortifying. “I think if I’d met you before I’d remember you just from that.”

Mingyu scoffs, and Junhui can just make out his hand waving in the air dismissively.

“It’s nothing,” Mingyu says softly. “I think it’s the same for everyone our age. Sometimes we’re barely scraping by, but I’m not going to just sit by when I can do something about it.”

“In my —” _In my time_ , Junhui starts, but has to stop himself and switch gears before he continues, “In my hometown, people just aren’t like that. I can’t thank you enough for all your help.”

“Have you thought about your next move?”

Junhui sighs. “I can’t access my money. My watch has no service at all. I think I’m stuck here for a while, until the situation works itself out.”

Mingyu rolls over onto his back and tucks his arms under his head. 

“Stay as long as you want, Jun. Maybe I can figure out where I’ve seen you before.”

Junhui settles against the mattress. He waits for Mingyu’s breathing to go deep and even before letting his own eyes slip shut.

“Maybe you can.”

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

Junhui wakes up to the smell of coffee and something savory. He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. His dreams were full of monsters, black shadowy figures chasing him no matter how fast he ran. He was running toward a light, a figure at the end, pocket watch glinting like a beacon. He read way too much of Mingyu’s book yesterday, the symbolism a little ironic this early in the morning.

Mingyu is propped in the doorway. There’s two plates of food in his hands and two coffee mugs on the desk. He’s dressed in sweatpants, a faded university hoodie, thick rimmed glasses and a beanie. He looks so much like the poster university boyfriend Junhui almost bursts into laughter. Instead he smiles.

“I hope the floor wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “I’ve slept in worse places, trust me.”

Junhui sits up and stretches, making space for Mingyu to sit with him. He hands Junhui a plate and sets their coffees on the nightstand. 

Junhui takes a bite and is immediately sure he’s never eaten food so tasty in his life.

“Did you make this?” he asks around a bite, hand over his mouth so he can at least pretend he’s not being rude. 

Mingyu gives him an almost sheepish smile.

“I hope you’re not asking because it’s bad.”

Junhui frowns around his spoon. Maybe it’s because the food in 2047 is synthesized and this is grown. Or maybe Mingyu is just a good cook. 

“It’s delicious. Maybe you should change your major.” Junhui sets his spoon down and takes a sip of his coffee. “Culinary school might make you more money in the long run.”

“That might be true,” Mingyu hums. “I cook to live, and don’t get me wrong, I love cooking for friends. It’s just, photography is my passion, you know?”

Junhui can’t stop staring at the tiny spark in Mingyu’s eyes, at the lopsided grin on his face. He wants to reach out, snatch the beanie off his head and ruffle his hair. 

Mingyu is cute. Hot, even. It’s not like Junhui has never been around an attractive man, but most guys aren’t as kind as Mingyu. It’s the strangest thing. Mingyu asked him if they’ve met before, and it’s impossible that they have, but Mingyu feels almost familiar. He’s never been so comfortable around someone before.

“Yeah, I understand,” Junhui says softly.

They don’t say much more until the food is gone. Junhui steals little glances at Mingyu and hopes he doesn’t get caught around bites of fried rice. 

“Do you have class today?” Junhui asks after he finishes his coffee. He sets the cup back on Mingyu’s nightstand.

“Only two. Afternoon, thank god,” Mingyu says. “I do have to do a little studying. Do you mind?”

Junhui shakes his head and holds his hands out in front of him. 

“I can walk around campus or something if you need quiet,” he offers, “But if it’s not too much trouble, I could really use a shower.”

Mingyu blinks at him, and then the words register. His eyebrows shoot up almost comically.

“Yeah, no, oh my god, let me get you some stuff.”

He scrambles off the bed and gets Junhui the necessary supplies, towels and a change of clothes.

“It’s down the hall, take a right. You can’t miss it,” Mingyu says, “The hot water is usually good this early.”

Junhui leaves him to it, and Mingyu settles on the bed, stacking the dishes in a pile on his nightstand.

The shower is, thankfully, empty when Junhui arrives. It’s a communal one. He remembers Soonyoung mentioning that, part of why he always begged Junhui to let him borrow his private one. The newer dorm had its perks, but walking past the skeleton of the building still makes him feel strange even after sleeping.

Junhui scrubs his hair and wonders if he’ll be stuck in 2017 forever. He wonders if he’ll live out the rest of his days here. By the time it’s 2047 again he’ll be the same age as his parents. Maybe it won’t be so bad. He can still get married, after all. Well, once it’s legal.

He dresses himself in Mingyu’s clothes, jeans and a white tee shirt, and towels his hair until it’s mostly dry. The clothes are almost a perfect fit. A thrill snakes down his spine at the thought.

When he gets back to Mingyu’s dorm he’s sprawled out on the bed, lip caught between his teeth as he copies notes from his textbook. Junhui leans against the door frame and watches him. Love at first sight isn’t actually a thing, but Junhui is definitely...infatuated.

Mingyu notices him and grins. 

“How good are you at physics, Jun?” he asks.

Junhui shuts the door behind him and mirrors the look.

“I can get you a passing grade, probably.”

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

It’s the most comfortable few hours Junhui has spent in a long time. He lays down next to Mingyu on the bed, talks him through acceleration and torque, the Doppler Effect. Mingyu listens to him sagely, taking notes as they go, and by the time they’re finished he seems like he understands how to find what the question is asking him for.

“Would you mind —” Mingyu starts. He rubs the back of his neck and looks down at his book. Like he’s got to work up the nerve. Butterflies dance in Junhui’s stomach. “After my classes today, could I take some pictures of you? For my final project. I have this idea in my head, something like a silhouette. You’d be perfect for it.”

Junhui feels heat creep up his face before he can stop it. He does his best to disguise it with a smirk.

“Oh?” he says, sly, “Are you saying I could be a model?”

Mingyu doesn’t laugh it off. Junhui’s face burns hotter. 

“Is that a yes?” Mingyu asks, softer now. 

Junhui has to clear his throat before he can speak.

“Y-yeah. I don’t mind.”

Mingyu reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. It’s warm, almost burning. He squeezes once before letting go.

“You’re gonna save this whole project, Jun. Thank you.”

Mingyu sits up and slips on his shoes, slings his bag over his shoulder and leaves for his class.

“I’ll be back by five,” he says, giving Junhui a small wave as he shuts the door.

Junhui is alone again. He stretches out on the bed and barely has enough time to settle against the mattress when the door bursts open.

Two men dressed in dark suits rush toward the bed, and all Junhui can do is put his arms over his face and hope they don’t mean to hurt him.

“Shoes. Now,” one of the men says, wrenching Junhui’s arm behind his back. He hisses as he’s pulled to his feet. There’s no other option, really, than to do what they ask. 

He has to tie them one handed, and as soon as they’re secure enough the other man grabs him by the arm.

It’s like a shock when he realizes that these men could be from his own time. It’s illegal for him to be here, after all. He feels the blood drain from his face. 

There is no cold metal pressed to his spine, no cuffs around his wrists, but Junhui has never felt so helpless.


	3. ???

It’s jarring, to say the least. Junhui’s second experience going through the fabric of time feels less like falling, but that’s more to do with the two men dressed in dark suits gripping his arms tightly between them.

Junhui blinks and instead of being in Mingyu’s dorm he’s in what looks to be a home office. The men release him and step to the back of the room, one on each side of the door. The carpet sinks under his shoes, plush and expensive. The wooden desk is huge, glossy oak. There is a globe in the corner and in the center of the desk is an open calendar. It’s covered top to bottom in equations, random words traced over in heavy black. Loop. Warp. 2017.

Junhui gasps, and the office chair turns slowly to reveal a man.

His eyes are both mild and hard, and Junhui can’t tell which one is the act. The man stands and walks around the desk. He holds out his hand.

“Hello Junhui. My name is Hyungwon. Chae Hyungwon.”

Junhui has to steady himself on the chair in front of him. He doesn’t take Hyungwon’s hand, but he doesn’t seem offended by this. If anything he’s amused, his mouth quirking at the corner. 

Chae Hyungwon. Junhui has heard this name for most of his life. 

“ _Time warp is not allowed. Do not take any watches from CHW_.” 

A phrase he’s heard over the air, seen flashing across the sky, since he was a child.

It turns out that Chae Hyungwon is a man not much older than him. He wears a dark suit and carries a pocket watch. His hair is long and dark, his lips incredibly full. He’s beautiful. Nothing like the monster he’s made out to be.

“How was it? Traveling through time?” he asks. 

Junhui feels panic all over again.

“It was an accident,” he rushes out, “I didn’t, I don’t even know what I _did_ —”

Hyungwon smirks and Junhui stops talking. 

“Not everyone can do it, you know. Even if they possess the means, it doesn’t always work the way it should.” Hyungwon crosses his arms over his chest. “You not only managed to do it successfully, but you went back to a very interesting year. A very specific year.”

  1. Junhui wonders what’s so special about that year. His parents weren’t even married yet, had barely been dating for six months.



“Accident or not, you’re now a wanted criminal. We both know that,” Hyungwon says. “So where will you run? You can’t go forward, only to your present time, but you can go back, as far back as you want.”

“Why are you telling me this? What do you mean, exactly?” Junhui asks. His skin is prickling. Hyungwon’s words feel like needles.

Chae Hyungwon is looking at him with the calculation of a professor evaluating a science project. Like Junhui is an experiment, and maybe he is.

“Each time someone jumps through time a small amount of energy is created. I want you to work for me. Collect that energy and bring it back to me.” 

He reaches into his suit jacket and passes Junhui a black flask. It’s impossibly cold in his hands. Hyungwon doesn’t give him the opportunity to object, but he doesn’t really have anything to object to. There are only two options: go back to the present and face criminal charges, or stay wherever this is, work for Hyungwon and avoid capture with the most wanted man in history.

“How —” Junhui licks his lips. “How will I know where to find it?”

Hyungwon smiles warmly but it makes Junhui feel almost nauseous. 

“You won’t. You’ll just have to hop around time, and by doing that you’ll be creating energy that others will harvest.”

“What exactly does this energy do?” Junhui asks, curiosity taking over. He is, honestly, a little scared of Hyungwon. He knows the stories, the rumors, has seen pictures of the lives he’s ruined.

“When the job is done, I’ll show you.” Hyungwon steps closer, reaches out and tilts his chin so that Junhui meets his eyes. “There’s always something that people want after they start this job. I can change anything in the course of history if you do well for me.”

Junhui shivers.

“Of course, there’s a lot of risk. The authorities will be looking for you no matter where you go, and you _really_ don’t want to know what will happen if they catch you.” Hyungwon’s hand travels from his chin to the back of his neck. “They will do anything to make you suffer, and they will do anything to find me.”

The sound of Mingyu’s voice echoes in Junhhui’s head.

_Have we met before?_

_I have the weirdest feeling, almost like deja vu._

Junhui needs answers, and so, he takes the watch out of his pocket and slips it on his wrist, ignoring the way Hyungwon’s hand burns against his skin.

“I’ll do it.”

Hyungwon grins.

“The flask will absorb the energy as you encounter it. I just need you to go looking.” Hyungwon’s hand slips out of his hair and Junhui has to fight against another shiver. “Now, what are you waiting for? Change the dial to whatever date you want, press it in and off you’ll go. The button on the other side will bring you back here.”

Junhui stares down at the watch and nods. He decides to make a game of it, since it doesn’t matter much anyway. He spins the dial and the numbers tick down. Before he even registers what the date is he clicks the button in, and Hyungwon’s office shimmers away.


	4. 1953

When Junhui opens his eyes he’s surrounded by forest. The sound of gunfire is constant and close, seemingly from all directions. He takes cover behind the largest tree he can find and checks the watch. It’s 1953, though Junhui has no idea _where_ he is. The forest doesn’t offer many clues. The sky is overcast and choked with smoke. He looks down at his jeans and white tee shirt and hopes that he’ll be able to blend in like this. It’s impossible to determine just where the gunfire is coming from, so Junhui picks a direction and starts walking. 

Hyungwon’s words ring in his ears. _You’re now a wanted criminal_. It’s a lonely feeling that worms into his chest. How long will he be running? Can Hyungwon give him safety if he does a good job? He’s not even sure how much time has passed since he found the watch. One week? Time doesn’t seem to mean the same thing, now.

Junhui walks for what feels like hours. The forest grows darker and then lighter, and as he nears a clearing there is a circle of green tents, the sound of gunfire closer but still distant. Voices too, shouting, screaming.

Junhui walks closer and is swallowed up in chaos. 

“I need a medic!” someone shouts in Korean. “Where is Kyunghee?” A soldier, Junhui can tell from the uniform. Wherever he is, this is war. 

A woman who must be Kyunghee rushes from a tent at the edge of the clearing and meets a group of four men. They have someone on a makeshift stretcher between them. They all walk into the closest tent, and as soon as the soldiers come back out screams echo in the clearing. 

A man with a chest full of medals strides up to Junhui.

“You the new medic Delta is sending over,” he says more than asks. He doesn’t mention that Junhui isn’t dressed in uniform. It’s probably the last thing on anyone’s mind. 

“I’m, um —” Junhui starts, raising his hands in front of his chest. 

The soldier gives him no time to speak, just pushes him toward the tent with the screaming.

“No time to be green. This is war, son. Go do your job.”

Junhui has no medical training. He can barely stomach the sight of his own blood. There’s no telling how long he has to stay here before his flask has absorbed the necessary energy. He opens the tent and steps inside. It’s this or exposing himself, and the truth is it’s more likely the soldiers will think him a deserter than a time traveler.

The inside of the tent is something out of a nightmare. Men covered in sweat and dirt, buckets of blood and vomit, piles of dirty needles and empty bottles of saline. Junhui goes hot and nauseous right away.

Kyunghee spots him and waves him over.

“You’re just in time,” she says. “Sit down and help me hold him.”

The man on the table is big. Tall and strong, a good foot soldier. There’s a hole three fingers wide in his abdomen. Junhui fights past the dizziness and puts his hands on the soldier’s arms.

“The bullet has to come out, private,” Kyunghee says, her voice flat. She snaps on a pair of gloves. “If you don’t sit still it’s going to hurt more.”

The soldier thrashes against Junhui’s hold. His hair is caked with dirt, hiding his eyes. He’s breathing hard, short inhales that are more like hyperventilating.

“Hey,” Junhui says gently, keeping his voice as even as he can, “Hey. Look at me. What’s your name?”

It’s a long shot, but maybe talking to him will keep him distracted while Kyunghee does her work. The soldier’s hands fly to Junhui’s arms and squeeze hard. There is a wet squelching sound and he goes incredibly pale.

“K-Kim,” the soldier starts, gritting his teeth. He sucks in a breath as another squelch echoes loud in Junhui’s head. “M-M-Min —”

It feels a little too impossible to be real. 

He can see it now, the shape of the jaw, the warmth of his hands. He doesn’t have to finish saying his name. Junhui already knows.

Kim Mingyu.

In the middle of a war almost 100 years before Junhui’s present time. Anywhere, any time, and yet he’s found Mingyu again. He’s not exactly the same Kim Mingyu that Junhui met in 2017, but they look similar enough that it feels that way.

Junhui manages a half smile. “Mingyu, right. It’s on your uniform.”

“It’s done,” Kyunghee says, falling back against her seat heavily. “Bandage him up for me.”

Junhui must go even more pale. Mingyu manages a smile, teeth pink from his own blood, as he eases his hands off Junhui’s arms.

“It gets easier...after the first time,” Mingyu pants. “Trust me.”

Junhui nods and looks to Kyunghee who tosses him a pair of gloves that will definitely be too small and a roll of bandages.

Between the clamminess of his hands and the way they won’t stop shaking it takes three tries to get the gloves on. Mingyu is quiet on the cot. The front of his uniform is dark with blood.

“Hurry up, kid. He’ll keep losing blood if you don’t wrap him up.”

Junhui thinks back to every single movie and drama he’s ever seen in his entire life. What is he supposed to do?

Mingyu’s uniform is unbuttoned all the way down, so it’s as easy as moving the fabric carefully away from the wound. The hole is just as large as it seemed covered up. Junhui swallows thickly, unrolls the bandage and carefully starts wrapping. It soaks through instantly, and it takes a lot of layers and increased pressure before the bleeding seems under control. Mingyu doesn’t comment on his lack of medical training. He doesn’t say much at all, really. He just watches Junhui with a strange expression. 

He’s barely got the bandage secured before Kyunghee’s pulling him up by the arm and shoving him toward the opening of the tent. 

“Plenty more wounded around here. Just do what you can,” she says.

Mingyu’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth, but Junhui is pulled away before he has time to say whatever is on his mind.

Junhui spends the rest of the day learning what it really means to go to war. He ends up puking in the woods by the end of it, the sight of a soldier who stepped on a landmine too much for him. All he can see when he closes his eyes is the haunted eyes of men, all he can smell is blood, and the never ending sound of gunfire rings in his ears. He’s given a military uniform, his own clothes too bloody to be saved. The starchy green fabric feels foreign, but it does make him feel like he’s in the right mindset. Dressed the part, maybe now it will be easier to play the part for however long he stays here.

  
  


~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

  
  


Junhui is laying on a cot next to Kyunghee, who squeezed his shoulder almost fondly before settling down to sleep. 

“Not bad for your first day,” she says softly, an almost motherly smile on her lips. “It’s not always this hectic. Tomorrow will be better. You’ll see.”

Junhui hasn’t decided if he should leave and take his chances in another time, or if he should stay here until he’s sure the job is done. How many missed chances will Hyungwon allow him before he turns him over to the authorities?

The dry rustle of leaves outside of the tent has him sitting bolt upright in his cot. He holds his breath, waiting for shots to ring out, waiting for a knife to fly through the tent and hit him in the chest. Instead he hears a low swear and twigs cracking.

A strange feeling pickles up his spine, like fingers in the back of his hair. Against his better judgment he gets out of bed and walks out into the night. 

It’s late summer, the air around him is cool and the moon is full. At the edge of the clearing, just barely visible, is Mingyu. He’s got a hand wrapped around his waist protectively as he shuffles along a lightless path. Junhui runs to catch up to him.

“Where are you going?” he whispers harshly.

Mingyu freezes, shoulders tense as he turns toward Junhui, but when he realizes who he is he relaxes right away.

“It’s you,” he says, and it feels a lot more significant than it should. Would this Mingyu know him? Impossible. “Would you like to come with me?”

“To where?” Junhui asks. He’s already fallen into step next to him, deciding subconsciously that he’ll follow. Mingyu shuffles along quietly until the camp is barely a blink of light behind them.

“Away. I just, I need to get _away_ from here,” Mingyu says after a while. “I found a place once. On patrol.”

“Is it safe?”

Mingyu shrugs, his arm tightening around his waist. “My patrol partner is dead. As far as I know I’m the only living person that knows about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Junhui says. It’s not surprising that he means it.

Mingyu doesn’t speak again until the moon is high in the sky. They’ve walked a few miles. The sounds of war seem less, now, gunshots barely noticeable.

“It’s another day of walking before we get there,” Mingyu says. He leans heavily against a tree, sliding down until he’s on the ground. Junhui sits next to him, close but not touching. 

It’s hard to remember that this Mingyu doesn’t know him, hasn’t spent days in a dorm room eating hastily made breakfast and talking about a future that Junhui already knows, could spout like some kind of oracle. They are strangers. Junhui reminds himself over and over, even after Mingyu falls asleep, hand curled loosely around his stomach.

Junhui must fall asleep at some point. He wakes up with a start, Mingyu’s hand on his shoulder and the sun peeking in between the trees. The gunfire is never ending, distant but present.

“Let’s go,” Mingyu says, pushing himself up to his feet, his back against the tree trunk for leverage. He holds a hand out to Junhui but he gets up himself, not wanting to aggravate Mingyu’s injury.

It’s a few hours before they find water. A stream, clear and clean enough. Junhui ignores the warning bells in his head as thirst wins out. He plunges his hands into the cold water and drinks until he feels sick. Mingyu watches him with an amused half smile. He’s on his knees across from him, upper body straight, dunking his hands into the water and taking small sips.

“Why are you leaving, anyway?” Junhui asks as they start back on the trail. Mingyu looks at him for a moment before looking at the ground. 

“Don’t want them to see me with a hole in my side,” Mingyu answers. It’s brusque, more like a half truth. Junhui doesn’t press him.

They walk until it’s dark. There’s no food. Neither of them thought that far ahead. Junhui feels it like an actual ache, dizzy and tired. People don’t go hungry in 2047. When was the last time he ate, anyway? Breakfast with the Mingyu from 2017? How _long ago_ was that?

The place Mingyu is talking about sits at the top of a small hill. It looks a lot like a hunting cabin, small but cozy.

“There’s a generator. Food too. I checked it a few days ago,” Mingyu says. 

He reaches out and touches Junhui’s shoulder, almost like he’s reassuring himself that Junhui is really there. It warms his entire body.

“I just need to rest. That’s all,” Mingyu says, like Junhui has accused him of something. Junhui just nods.

The cabin is a bit dusty, but certainly not abandoned. There’s canned food in the cabinets and while the water starts out brown it runs clear after a few minutes. There’s a well just outside the back door, too. Mingyu bends down to get the generator started and hisses, hand coming up to grip his wound. Junhui rushes over. 

“Let me,” he says, helping Mingyu straighten up. Mingyu is warm under his hands, not fever hot, but it makes Junhui nervous all the same. They lock eyes for a moment, Mingyu’s searching and Junhui’s pleading. He sighs and steps back, gesturing with the hand not around his waist. 

“Do you know how to use it?” he asks, skeptical.

Junhui shakes his head and taps the front of his watch, clicking around until he finds what he needs. Encyclopedias and instruction manuals don’t require data, thankfully. He never thought those useless built in apps would actually come in handy.

It takes him half an hour to get the old generator working, but soon it’s humming softly. Mingyu clicks on a lamp and the bulb glows, dim but effective.

“How much power is in here?” Junhui asks. Mingyu looks up and grins.

“Don’t know. We should conserve it, either way.”

Junhui nods and powers the generator back down. The moon is bright enough that they really don’t need artificial light. They eat soup straight from the can. It’s cold and a little too salty but it’s one of the best things Junhui has ever eaten. Mingyu watches him, Junhui is starting to feel like he’s _always_ watching him, and smiles softly behind his own can.

There are two bedrooms at the end of the hall. Junhui takes one and Mingyu the other. It’s strange. There’s only a handful of steps between them, but it feels like more. Mingyu feels so out of reach. 

Junhui falls asleep thinking about Mingyu’s laughter and the way his cooking tastes, the smell of his laundry detergent and how he looks when he’s studying. He’s not surprised at how the two versions of Mingyu don’t clash as much as they should.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

Junhui wakes up to the sound of screaming. He’s out of bed so fast he almost falls on his face. He has to grip the bed frame to keep himself upright. 

The screams don’t stop. Junhui rushes across the hall.

Mingyu is thrashing against the bed, tangled in his sheets. He’s sweating, hair plastered to his head and it’s not even words coming out of his mouth, just screams. Pain and fear. Junhui sits on the edge of his bed and puts his hands on his shoulders.

“Mingyu. Wake up,” Junhui says. It’s too soft. He shakes him, worry turning to desperation. “Mingyu, please. Wake up. It’s a dream. Just a dream.”

Mingyu wakes up and before he registers Junhui he’s got a hand around his throat, flips them like he wasn’t asleep at all, pins Junhui down and squeezes.

Junhui stares up at Mingyu and he wonders what he sees when he looks down at him, where he is instead of in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Mingyu blinks and squints down at Junhui for a few agonizing seconds before he realizes who he is. His hand flies off his throat and Junhui takes a gasping breath, reaching up to rub the raw skin. 

“Shit, oh my god, I’m sorry,” Mingyu whispers. He shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing fiercely. He’s still on top of him. “I’m so sorry. I thought you —”

Junhui shakes his head and forces himself to take his hands away from his throat. It feels like he’s already bruising, like Mingyu’s left permanent marks.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Junhui says. His voice is hoarse from sleep more than anything, but Mingyu’s shoulders tremble. He reaches up and takes one of Mingyu’s hands away from his face. “I shouldn’t have scared you that way. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Mingyu looks down at him for a long time. Junhui’s hand is still around his wrist, loose, but Mingyu doesn’t try to break away. 

“You know,” Mingyu starts. He’s breathing heavily. The front of his shirt is tinged red at his abdomen, wound reopened from the nightmare or from immobilizing Junhui. “I don’t think you’ve told me your name, but I have the strangest feeling that I know you from somewhere. Is this your first deployment?”

And that’s —

 _No_. Mingyu shouldn’t know him at all. If Junhui exists in 1953 he’s in China, at best married off to some girl his parents chose, at worst fighting in the North, Mingyu’s pseudo enemy. 

Mingyu shouldn’t know him, but it’s just like 2017. 

He wonders, briefly, if he could say the truth out loud. What would Kim Mingyu, wounded soldier, do with a time traveler?

“Junhui. Or Jun, if you want,” Junhui says instead. “I hear that a lot. I guess I have that kind of face.”

Mingyu finally slips off the bed. He looks down at Junhui with something between a smile and a smirk. “You have more than just that kind of face, I think.”

Mingyu looks down at his stomach, the red tinted fabric of his green uniform. 

“You should take a shower. I can help you bandage that up after,” Junhui says. His whole face feels hot.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Mingyu says. He walks down the hall toward the tiny bathroom, and the echo of the shower rings in Junhui’s ears. 

He gets off the bed after a while. His entire body burns everywhere Mingyu touched him. He tries not to think too hard about Mingyu’s words, and instead turns on the generator and heats up a few cans of soup. 

Mingyu pads into the kitchen in his uniform pants and a towel draped over his shoulder and Junhui almost drops the spoon he’s stirring with into the pot. Seeing Mingyu’s body covered in blood and dirt is one thing, but seeing him clean and bare, just a wound sluggishly bleeding against his tan skin, has him nearly choking on his spit.

“There’s some first aid supplies in the bathroom, thank god,” Mingyu says casually, lifting the towel up to the back of his hair and drying it. “I can bandage myself if you don’t feel up to it.”

“ _No_ ,” Jun rushes out, setting the spoon on the counter and turning off the soup so it doesn’t boil over. “I can. I want to.”

Mingyu looks him up and down once, almost like he’s checking him out, before he nods and walks back to the bathroom. Junhui washes his hands in the kitchen sink before he follows. 

The bathroom is small, tiny really. There’s hardly enough room for both of them. Mingyu leans against the sink. He’s a little thin, the indentations of his ribs just peeking through, but he’s still muscular. The gunshot is between his navel and his right side. Junhui takes a few squares of gauze and wipes away the blood that’s trickled out of the wound. Mingyu’s stomach jumps under his touch and he takes a shaky breath. 

Junhui has only been a medic for a few days, but it’s easier this time. His hands already remember what to do, how much pressure to use to wrap his wound. Mingyu is quiet. The only sounds around them are the twittering of birds outside. The sun is just rising, reddish orange painting the tiled walls with fire. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Mingyu says. Junhui shakes his head and Mingyu touches the back of his hand, stopping his movements. He looks up and Mingyu’s eyes are closed off, haunted by something Junhui can’t even imagine. “I have bad dreams, sometimes. It started after my second deployment.”

Junhui takes a breath.

“How long have you been fighting?”

Mingyu’s fingers drag across his hand as he takes it away, clenching it at his side.

“It’s my fourth tour. When your country calls you, what can you do except answer?”

Junhui starts wrapping the bandage around Mingyu’s waist. He looks down at his hands, watches the way it almost looks natural.

“It’s like the war is never really over, right? It’s always up here.” Junhui taps his own temple twice before bringing his hand down to tie the bandage. “ Always.”

Mingyu is quiet. Junhui doesn’t expect him to answer. He doesn’t even know if there’s a _word_ for this yet in 1953. 

“We can stay here as long as you want, Mingyu. I think taking a rest will do you a lot of good.”

When Junhui looks up Mingyu’s shoulders are trembling, small, like he doesn’t want Junhui to see it. He reaches up without thinking, puts his hands on Mingyu’s skin and leaves them there until Mingyu is still.

“Are you sure we don’t know each other?” Mingyu asks, voice cracking at the end. Junhui snorts and Mingyu’s flushes. “Or are you always so friendly to people you’ve just met?”

He gives Mingyu’s shoulders a squeeze before he lets go. “There are exceptions in war, don’t you think? Can’t leave you behind, body or mind.”

Junhui rinses the blood off his hands and Mingyu hums, sounding almost normal.

“You know, you’re really smart, Jun.”

He fights back a shiver at the way his name sounds.

The rest of the day is spent getting the cabin in a more livable state, taking stock of their supplies, and Mingyu refusing to rest no matter how many times Junhui bodily sits him on the couch.

That night Junhui dreams about soldiers and blood, digging out shrapnel and covering lifeless bodies. He wakes up with a gasp, sweat clinging uncomfortably to his skin. Across the hall Mingyu is quiet and Junhui thinks that he would take every nightmare and live it himself if Mingyu could rest just like this.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

The days blend into a week, and then two.

Junhui learns that Kim Mingyu is 22, far too young to have toured the country in war as many times as he has. Before this, Mingyu was helping his parents in their fishing village. He learns that Mingyu eats with his left hand but does everything else with his right. 

“It’s not proper to write with your left hand,” Mingyu tells him one day. He’s got a book open on the kitchen table, underlining phrases that catch his attention. “I tried when I was little, but my teachers would hit my hand until I did it with my right.”

Mingyu from 2017 is left handed too, but he must have been lucky enough to have a good teacher, or maybe it stopped being improper by then. 

“It’s strange. Why does it matter what hand you write with?” Junhui mumbles under his breath. He’s got a book too. He uses his watch when Mingyu isn’t looking to translate the harder phrases.

Mingyu laughs. “I want to teach kids after this. I already promised myself I’ll let them write any way they want as long as it’s legible.”

Junhui looks up from his book. Mingyu is still smiling. It looks good on him. This, the healing wound on his stomach, the nights he doesn’t wake up screaming, is the life that Junhui wants for him.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a wonderful teacher,” Junhui says.

They fall into a routine. Mingyu cooks, clearly better at it, and Junhui does the dishes. Even with rationing, the generator runs out by the end of the second week, and Junhui braves a five mile walk through the woods to a small village, where grandmothers take one look at his uniform and load him up with jars of food. It doesn’t fix the generator problem, but he’ll take anything he can get.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

It’s another week before Mingyu’s wound heals to a pink scar. It’s comfortable here. Junhui can imagine making a life, away from Hyungwon, away from the law. It feels good, easy. 

“Your watch. It’s not really a watch, is it?” Mingyu asks him one night. They’re both sitting on the couch, a few candles burning for light on the table. 

Junhui freezes.

“What makes you say that?”

Mingyu shrugs. “You can touch it and the face changes. I’ve never seen a watch like that before.”

Junhui takes a breath. “I don’t think I could explain it to you. But...I guess you’re right. It’s not just a watch.”

Mingyu doesn’t press. They never press each other, not really. It’s easier that way. Mingyu tells him things when he’s ready, and he doesn’t expect any different from Junhui.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

“The first friend I made here died in front of me,” Mingyu says later. They’ve found that the cabin is quiet enough to have conversations in bed. They barely even have to raise their voices. “We met in basic training. During our first battle he took a bullet between the eyes. He was dead before he hit the ground.”

Junhui never says anything during these talks. Saying _I’m sorry_ over and over feels dismissive, somehow. Instead he lets Mingyu talk, lets him say anything he wants, good or bad. The nightmares are less since they’ve started this. 

“I don’t think I can go back,” he admits, much quieter, like he doesn’t want Junhui to hear. “How long do you think, before they find us?”

Deserting. Neither of them have said it out loud, but they both know it’s exactly what Mingyu has done. Deserting means jail, at best. Junhui remembers from his history books.

“What day is it?” Junhui asks. 

“Last time I saw a calendar was the day before I got shot,” Mingyu says. “May 26, 1953.”

Junhui hides his watch under the blanket and checks the encyclopedia. He feels light as air. The war will be over in two months. They’ve already been here for one.

“I think that by the time they find us the war will be over,” Junhui whispers.

Mingyu is asleep before he can give a real answer to his question, but the truth is that Junhui wouldn’t let him go back even if he wanted to.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

The sun is high in the sky. There’s a warm breeze and birds chirp happily in their nests. There are two squirrels in the front yard. Junhui is hanging sheets on a line to dry. It feels domestic, like the printed photographs of his grandparents, comfortable in a way that’s out of reach in his time.

Mingyu is inside. There’s a book he’s read twice now that’s propped open on his lap. The scar on his side is the only physical reminder he’s ever been to war, but sometimes he gets a far away look in his eyes, and he’s quiet for a long time, even after he blinks himself back to the cabin.

When Junhui turns toward the hill, there are two men in black suits at the bottom. They have old, worn leather watches on their wrists and sleek bands on the other. One of the men has long silver hair pushed back from his forehead. He looks younger than Junhui from this far away. They lock eyes and the silver haired man smiles.

Junhui’s blood turns to ice. It’s them. They found him.

Junhui runs back into the cabin and slams the door. He’s breathing hard. Mingyu gets up right away, shoulders steady and hands balled into fists at his side.

“They found me,” he says before he can stop himself. 

Mingyu’s eyes are hard, emotions swirling down until they are nothing. This is what Mingyu the soldier must look like. Junhui shivers. Mingyu walks down the hall and comes back with a pistol, loads it without looking. The click of the safety is loud.

“Stay inside. I’ll take care of it,” Mingyu says. 

_It’s not that simple_ , he wants to say. _They aren’t soldiers._

He doesn’t know what to do, and then he feels the heaviness of the watch in his uniform pocket. He pulls it out with shaking hands.

“Mingyu. I have to leave. They’ll hurt you if I stay.” His voice is barely a whisper. He can’t get his hands to stop shaking.

Mingyu shakes his head, too fast, immediate denial.

“No one is going to hurt me. No one is going to take you.”

Mingyu is at the front door before Junhui snaps out of it. He puts himself between Mingyu and the doorknob, barring it with his body.

“Please, I have to fix this. I can’t let them — _not you_ —” Every word is like a knife plunging into his chest.

Mingyu clicks the safety back on the gun and tucks it into his back pocket. 

“You said you won’t leave me behind. It’s the same, for me,” Mingyu says. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“They’ll follow me wherever I go. I’m on the run, Mingyu. I’m not a medic. I lied to you. I can’t stay here. I don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Mingyu cups his face. He wipes the tears off his cheeks with his thumb, but now that Junhui has started he can’t seem to stop.

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter that you aren’t a medic, Jun. Let’s just stay here, yeah?” 

Mingyu reaches for the gun in his back pocket. He can practically feel the men in black inching closer. They’re probably half way up the hill by now. And when they get to the cabin —

Junhui doesn't think about it. He wraps his arms around Mingyu, squeezes him tight, face pressed into his shoulder a little uncomfortably. Mingyu's arms are frozen at his sides. The gun isn't in his hand.

"I'll take care of this. Just give me five minutes, okay?" Junhui whispers against his skin.

Mingyu's shoulders are trembling and it's like a hole opens in his heart, the muscle squeezing desperately to keep working in spite of the pain. Mingyu knows what Junhui is saying, at least in some way, but when Junhui lets go he doesn't reach out, doesn't force him to stay put. 

Junhui opens the front door and shuts it, runs down the hill until he's in the line of sight of the men in black. The watch on his left wrist glimmers in the sun. He shakes it at them, tries to look cocky and defiant. One of the men raises a strange looking weapon at him, some cross between a gun and a taser, but before he can even pull the trigger Junhui flicks the dial on the watch and presses the button.

He wonders if Mingyu can see him vanish from the cabin window he's almost certainly looking out of. 

He wonders if Mingyu will teach when the war is over.

He wonders, for an unbearable second, how long Mingyu will think of him after this.


	5. 280

Junhui is standing in a market in the middle of a sunny afternoon. It’s busy, men in light colored tunics chatting idly, some buying fruit and meat. 

He’s not in a place he’s familiar with this time. 

He feels out of place right away, his green military uniform like a beacon to how he isn’t from around here. No one has noticed him yet, so he slinks along the side of a stone building and walks down a side street. There’s less people almost immediately. A few children look up from their play and stare at him, open mouthed. It’s lucky they don’t scream. He keeps walking and as he rounds a corner he’s face to face with a line of laundry. It’s luck, maybe the luckiest he’s been in a long time. There’s a pair of sandals next to the side of the building too.

He grabs an off white bolt of cloth he hopes will wrap into proper clothing and runs, snatching the sandals on his way. He slips into an alley and shrugs out of the uniform quickly, trying to remember how the men he passed had the fabric wrapped around them. He uses a bit of nylon cord from his uniform to secure it at the waist, and all he can do is hope it doesn’t come apart. 

He slips both watches onto his wrist. It’s so obvious Junhui almost laughs, but it’s not like there’s a pocket he can hide them in (at least, he doesn’t think there is). The date has completely eluded him. His watch has the same white screen as before and the other is set to 280.

When he walks back into the street he feels much less conspicuous. Fewer eyes seem to catch on him as he makes his way through the town. The buildings are stone, arches and pillars in what Junhui’s university professor would call classic architecture. The streets are cobblestone, worn but clean. His sandals scrape softly and the murmur of voices around him is the only sound.

Junhui can’t remember the last time he was surrounded by people speaking a language he couldn’t understand. He’s been in Korea since he was a teen, moved for his father’s job from China. It was unsettling, a strange kind of claustrophobic, to be in a city packed with people but unable to understand them. His watch could translate for him, but his parents insisted he learn the old fashioned way. It’s strangely soothing this time around. Without understanding the words there’s no worry about what these people might think of him. 

He reaches the edge of the city and the sun is right in front of his face, huge and warm. The city is on a hill, and Junhui is suddenly surrounded by land. There are small pockets of trees though he can’t tell what kind, mountains, too, in the distance. To his right is the ocean, water so blue it looks like a painting, almost unreal. The urge to run over the fields and into the trees, to jump into the blue, blue water, is so strong Junhui has to grip his arms to keep himself from breaking into a run. The people of the city would definitely notice him then.

He continues to follow the path out of the city and even though he’s been alone the entire time, something about the gentle, warm breeze on his skin eases the loneliness.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

Junhui follows the path until nightfall. There is nothing around him but grass and trees and stars, more stars than he’s ever seen in his entire life, so close that he could reach out and touch them if he were just a few centimeters taller.

There’s a huge, lone tree in the center of an open field. It almost has two trunks, with branches that start very close to the bottom. Something about it draws him in. The leaves are almost like an oak tree, slender light green, though he can’t place what kind it is. He’s resigned himself to sleeping outside under the stars. There haven’t been any predators, no wolves or bears. It’s probably safe enough, and even if a traveler passed him it’s not like he has anything worth stealing.

The tree bark is surprisingly smooth on his back, the ground cool under his bare legs. He looks up through the leaves and stares at the night sky. He should probably call his parents. Is his name released to the public yet? Did his mother see his face flash across the evening news? Wen Junhui, known time traveler, wanted dead or alive? Can he even make it to a time where he can call them? An ache pangs in his chest, his heart heaving like it’s the final beat it will ever take.

He shuts his eyes but all he can see is Mingyu’s face, Mingyu humming while cooking dinner, Mingyu morphing back into a soldier right in front of his eyes. His arms wrapped around Mingyu, too tight. Not nearly tight enough. 

He jolts awake with a gasp. The wind, a whisper on the breeze has him pressing as tightly to the tree as he can, heart hammering in his chest. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, or what he dreamed. The moon is huge overhead, round and heavy with cool light. It’s bright enough that Junhui can see all the way down to the path he’d come on clearly. The silence is more unsettling in the dark and he shivers. 

The path is empty, or at least that’s how it appears at first. A large figure lopes closer. A wolf. Junhui stays motionless. It stops on the path and turns, yellow eyes shining in the moonlight, locked with his. Junhui feels fear zip down his spine, but under   
that —

It feels like the wolf is watching him, but not to hurt him. A strange sensation, like the wolf is supposed to see him, and he should see it in return.

The wolf continues down the path and Junhui breathes out all the air in his lungs. His adrenaline is still pumping when another figure comes into view. This one, a man. Junhui wonders if he’s going after the wolf. Do people take nightly strolls wherever he is? Is he hunting the creature? 

The man stops right where the wolf did, turns and spots him. Junhui tries to make himself small, fear clawing at his insides. 

His hands shake as he clicks around on his watch. The screen illuminates his face and he freezes, realizing too late that there’s no way to explain this. The man walks toward him slowly. Junhui’s heart thunders. There’s no time to think about running.

He manages to get his watch into the real time translation function just as the man makes it a few paces away from him.

“I have been waiting for you,” the man says. Junhui glances at his watch. Greek. He’s in Greece, 280, though he doesn’t know if it’s BC or AD.

“For me?” Junhui asks. His watch repeats the sentence in Greek, the screen at full brightness, and yet the man doesn’t recoil, doesn’t have any reaction at all.

He takes a few steps closer, and Junhui is met with warm brown eyes and shaggy hair, gentle curls and golden skin that shines even in the moonlight.

“I prayed to the gods,” he says, closing the distance between them. He squats down and at eye level the face in front of him is too much. Junhui has to cover his mouth so he doesn’t gasp. “I followed the wolf. It led me to you. You are more beautiful than I imagined you would be.”

Junhui takes a breath.

“Tell me your name.”

The man smiles, an almost boyish grin.

“Κιμ Μίν-γιού.”

He doesn’t need the watch to tell him what he already knows.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

Mingyu takes him back to his home like they’re old friends and not complete strangers, tucks his sandals away next to his much the same way. Junhui thinks he’ll never be able to fall asleep when he’s met Mingyu in _Greece_ of all places, but he’s out as soon as he’s under the blankets.

He wakes up to the sound of rhythmic thuds, like an axe chopping wood but softer. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and pads out of the room toward the sound. From the window he can see Mingyu in the field behind the house shooting arrows into a tree. He can see the tree Mingyu found him under, too, maybe half a mile away. An almost eerie feeling shivers up his spine.

Junhui slips into his sandals and walks around the house to where Mingyu is. It’s a modest size, big enough for a small family to live in comfortably. He wonders if Mingyu has anyone close by. The height of the sun says mid morning, the air comfortably warm with the kind of creeping heat that suggests it will be unbearably hot later. Mingyu hears his footsteps and turns toward him, bow pointed down to the ground.

“How long have you been out here?” Junhui asks. 

Mingyu shrugs and slings the bow over his shoulder, closing the distance between them. 

“I rose before the sun. I prepare for battle —” he starts, pausing as he looks Junhui over up and down. “You have not told me your name.”

Junhui flushes. “I, well, I’m not sure if it will —” He sighs. “Junhui. You can call me Jun, if it’s easier.”

The translator stumbles over his name, and Junhui knows it must sound terrible because Mingyu laughs heartily. 

“Jun, then,” Mingyu says when his laughter dies down. “I can see that you are not accustomed to the dress here. Let me help you.”

He rearranges the fabric until it sits comfortably over both of his shoulders. He moves his hands to Junhui’s waist easily, and the familiarity of the touch makes him warm all over. He ties the cord back around his waist after the fabric shifts into place, gathering the excess so it hangs almost fashionably. He feels better already. Mingyu’s hands linger at his waist, and up close his eyes are even more beautiful. 

“Thank you,” Junhui says softly, glancing down at where Mingyu’s hands connect to his body. 

The touch lingers on Junhui’s skin even after Mingyu takes his hands off him, almost permanent.

“Battle, you said. You’re going to war?” Junhui asks, voice rising as Mingyu’s words sink in.

He nods. It’s so casual Junhui wants to scream. He can’t do this again.

“I must go. Glory and favor await me at the end of battle. But now, I must prepare.” Mingyu takes the bow off his shoulder and holds it between them. “Would you like to help me?”

Junhui thinks about his bloody hands, soldiers screaming, about Mingyu gripping him, white as a sheet as a bullet was pulled out of him with no anesthetic. War is bloody and cruel, senseless. 

_There is no glory in that_ , Junhui wants to say. _I can’t watch war destroy you a second time_.

Instead he takes the bow from Mingyu’s hand and nods.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

It takes three days of training with Mingyu before Junhui hits the makeshift bullseye on the tree. Mingyu claps him on the shoulder so hard he almost falls on his face, but the praise washes over him like bath water. It feels almost as good as Mingyu’s constant touches.

They take a break from practicing and walk down the path leading from Mingyu’s house, following the same road Junhui walked. He hasn’t seen the wolf again, and even though he wants to ask Mingyu about it something always stops him, the words choking up in his throat. _What does the wolf mean? What can I do to convince you not to fight?_

They walk for a long time before finally reaching a small, secluded beach. The water is so blue, crystal clear. Junhui stares at the vast expanse of water and, yeah, maybe this _was_ made by the gods. He walks right to the edge of the water and lets it flow over his feet. It’s surprisingly cold. He can’t stop grinning.

Mingyu strips down in the sand and Junhui whips his head in the other direction, face burning even as Mingyu laughs. He runs right into the water until it’s chest high. He dunks his head and when he comes back up, his hair is slicked back from his face. Drops of water cling to his lashes and Junhui’s breath catches in his throat. 

“You should join me,” Mingyu calls out with an almost sly grin. Junhui shakes his head. 

“I don’t know how to swim,” he admits, staring down at his feet, at the tide rushing water over his sandals. He has to turn his watch to full volume for the translation to carry to Mingyu.

He walks out a little further, until the water is to his calves, to his knees. It’s so beautiful he can’t really help himself. He figures the current won’t be able to snatch him away with so little of his body in the water. Plus Mingyu is close enough. Nothing bad would happen to him. Not here.

Mingyu swims closer. The water is so clear that Junhui could see his entire body if he looked, but he keeps his eyes on Mingyu’s face. He shakes his hair until it’s hanging damp in front of his eyes.

“Later, I will teach you,” Mingyu says. “But first, practice.” He looks Junhi up and down. “How are you with sparring?”

“I’ve never —” Junhui starts. Mingyu grins and he sighs, dropping the sentence before he embarrasses himself further. There is no way to tell Mingyu that even the year of martial arts classes he took as a child can’t compare to what Mingyu has been doing for months, maybe even years. Mingyu is a warrior, and Junhui, really, is just a man.

Junhui allows himself one last look at the vast, beautiful blue in front of him before he walks back to the beach, and when Mingyu walks past him and starts dressing he allows himself one quick peek before turning away.

“You are quite interesting, Jun,” Mingyu says, “Is the body something to be ashamed of where you are from?”

Junhui whips his head around. Mingyu isn’t upset, at least, just curious. His eyebrows are drawn down and he chews on his lower lip. Every second he spends around Kim Mingyu is a test. He cannot be attracted to different versions of the same man over and over. He shouldn’t be. But he is.

“It’s hard to explain, but I’ll try,” Junhui says. Mingyu arranges his clothes over his damp skin and slides back into his sandals. “It’s not shame, exactly. It’s more like...the body is private, and you shouldn’t look unless you have permission.”

Mingyu walks in front of him and turns so he’s walking backwards, face to face. He winks.

“Then you have my permission. You may look at me whenever you like.” He slides a hand through his still damp hair. “It is not forbidden here. You may appreciate any form. Man, woman, the body should be enjoyed.”

Junhui snorts and trips over a rock in the road, stumbling for a moment before righting himself. Mingyu’s hands are frozen half way to his shoulders. 

The air between them feels different now, like Mingyu has given him permission to do more than look at him. Permission to look. Permission to stare. Permission to want.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

  
  


Two days later, and Junhui is so good at archery Mingyu swears he’s been doing it his entire life. A part of him wonders if maybe in a past life he did this, and the thought is so jarring it makes him double over with laughter. Mingyu takes the bow from his hand and notches an arrow with a grin.

“Where you are from, do you believe in the Fates?” Mingyu asks him.

Junhui waits until he’s caught his breath to answer.

“There are some who still believe in fate, destiny, the work of God. But it’s not as common as it is here.”

Mingyu lets the arrow fly. It’s left of center and he sighs.

“Long ago, it is said that humans were made as a pair, joined together with four arms and two heads. They were so powerful that they threatened to overtake the gods and rule in their stead.” Mingyu turns to look at him. “So Zeus, instead of destroying them, split them in half. Those humans were miserable, longing always to be complete, not resting until they found their other half.”

 _Oh_ , Junhui thinks. It feels like he’s heard this before. The sun shines through the clouds and Junhui lifts a hand to his eyes.

“Do you think it’s true?” Junhui asks, unsure of why exactly Mingyu is telling him this. Surely he isn’t saying that _he_ is Mingyu’s — 

“Perhaps you will never meet your other half,” Mingyu says, cutting off his thoughts. He notches another arrow, perfectly straight. “If you please the gods, they will give you just rewards.” He lets go. The arrow flies down the field and hits the tree dead center. “A hero is remembered always, his tales passed down the generations until he becomes a god in his own way. That too is a reward.” 

Junhui stretches his arms toward the sun and sighs. He wants to curl up on the grass and sleep. Mingyu probably wouldn’t mind, but he also promised to help him train, for whatever good he’s doing. Maybe now that he’s seen war, it’s etched into him, somehow. Visible to those looking for it. Or maybe he really _was_ an archer in a past life.

“You know this like you know that the gods want you to go off to battle?” Junhui asks, resting a hand on his hip. “I’m sorry, I just can’t believe that.”

“You cannot believe it because,” Mingyu says, slinging an arm around Junhui’s waist, “wherever you are from, the gods no longer walk among you.” Mingyu grins. “But I have seen them. I have heard them. And you are yet another sign that I will fight, and I will win.”

Junhui can’t help but grin back. “How am I a sign?”

Mingyu takes his hand and holds the watch up at eye level.

“This is the work of the gods. How else would we be able to understand each other? What should take many years is happening in an instant.”

Junhui can’t explain this to Mingyu. There is too much. The concept of electricity would be too much for him, let alone the _computer_ sitting on his wrist. Mingyu’s unshakable belief in the gods, too, means that even if he tries, it won’t make much difference. 

Instead he indulges himself for just a moment, lacing their fingers together to feel the heat of Mingyu’s palm against his own. 

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

They spend an evening under the stars. Mingyu lights a small fire and the ground is cool under his legs but it’s almost refreshing. Training had been harsh, with Mingyu practicing rapid shots with his bow for hours, until his arms trembled and the arrows stopped flying true. Junhui had shot some too, and Mingyu wrapped a hand around his hip and straightened out his posture and really, it was the notched arrow that kept him from leaning back to rest his weight against Mingy’s body. 

Every day Mingyu’s training becomes harsher, more serious, and every day Junhui tries to find the words to tell him not to go. They evade him, always stuck in the back of his throat, hanging in the air, just out of reach. His only comfort is that as the days go on Mingyu touches him more. It’s all friendly, of course, but the touches linger a little longer each time. Junhui wonders if he’s enough to keep Mingyu from the gods, from whatever he thinks his destiny is.

Junhui scrolls around on his watch. He can see Mingyu watching him out of the corner of his eye, a small, almost pleased smile on his face. 

“You haven’t asked me about it,” Junhui says, glancing over in Mingyu’s direction. He holds the watch up and it catches light from the fire. “Aren’t you curious?”

Mingyu hums. “I am. I wonder what magic powers it, but I know that some things must not be questioned.”

Junhui nods. “And you aren’t curious about where I’m from?”

“Somewhere far from here, of that I am certain.”

Junhui smiles and continues scrolling. It’s a mixture of fear and his own will that keep him from searching up Greece, Kim Mingyu. He’s not ready to know yet.

“How do you know when to go off to battle?” Junhui asks. “No one comes from the city. How will word even get to you?”

Mingyu laughs softly. “There is a signal. Smoke from the tower. Pure white, and the time will be upon us.” He buries his fingers into the blades of grass. “Besides, there is only a single road out of the city. War will find me from one direction or the other.”

“You’re so sure that war will find you,” Junhui mumbles.

He hopes it’s swallowed by the fire. This is something Junhui and Mingyu could come to an understanding on if they had years together. If Junhui could tell Mingyu everything, crack open his ribs and give him his heart, let Mingyu cradle it bloody and beating in his hands, maybe then he would understand. It’s not something words can change, not over a week. 

They sit in comfortable silence. Junhui puts his hands behind him and gazes up at the stars. Even after so many days, it’s still breathtaking. Light pollution and city air make Junhui’s night view a few dim specks. It’s nothing like this.

He can feel Mingyu’s eyes on him, a warm, comforting weight.

“When I am gone, where will you go?” Mingyu asks.

“I’m...not sure,” Junhui says softly, barely audible over the crackling wood between them. “What makes you think I won’t stay here and wait for your return?”

Mingyu walks around the fire and sits next to him, their legs almost touching.

“It is not your destiny to remain here.” Mingyu’s voice is confident, unshakable. “When I leave so must you.”

Junhui’s heart aches. He’s been doing nothing but leaving since he met Mingyu in 2017. He’s tired. He wants to _stay_ , to see the leaves change, the spring flowers bud on the trees. He wants to see Mingyu in every season.

Mingyu lays back against the grass. He stares up at the blanket of stars and Junhui watches him as his heart is wrung dry of every drop of blood.

“Will you think of me when I go?” Mingyu asks. Junhui has to lean closer to hear him, and like this he’s very obviously hovering over him. The air is cool but Junhui feels feverish. “Will you miss me, λατρεία μου?”

Junhui fights off a frown. The end of Mingyu’s question hangs between them, untranslated. Junhui can’t really ask him to tell him what it means. He tries to burn the words into his mind so he can say them again later, so he can get to a better computer, ask someone and find out if he has to. Mingyu’s eyes are glowing in the firelight, almost amber. Junhui wants to kiss him so badly he feels it like a physical ache.

“I always miss you,” Junhui says, and Mingyu gives him a soft, almost knowing smile.

He reaches up and traces Junhui’s cheek, eyes searching, seeking. Junhui’s heart opens, lock and key, and he leans down. Their noses are almost touching. Mingyu’s thumb traces his skin. He presses their foreheads together, and maybe there’s something in the air that makes it feel like every door is open, truths and secrets Junhui hasn’t even dared to name passing between them.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

He knows something is wrong as soon as he wakes up. The air is too still. Junhui almost falls out of bed, his legs tangled in the blankets. He makes it to the hall and stops dead in his tracks. 

There’s a note on the low table held in place by a bit of bronze. It’s in Greek. Junhui’s hands shake as he holds his watch over the scroll.  
  


_The sunrise hits your sleeping face, and I believe I understand why some men do not follow their fate. As much as you are a sign from the gods, you are also a test. I hesitated for a long time this morning, watching you. I wonder if you will know of Mingyu when you go back to where you are from. I will fight with honor. I will make you proud, and I will receive my reward._

_Do not be sad,_ _λατρεία μου. Fate has many things in store for us._  
  


There aren’t tears. He just feels hollow, empty, like a piece of him has gone missing and he can’t get it back.

For glory. For the gods. Mingyu _left_ , and Junhui sinks to his knees.

Is this what Mingyu felt at the cabin, when Junhui ran down the hill and never came back? Is this what Mingyu felt when he came back from class and Junhui was just gone? How long did they think about him? Days? Years? Junhui gasps in a breath and it burns, smoke instead of oxygen. He doesn’t cry.

The hair on the back of his neck stands straight up. A black spider the size of his palm crawls across the floor a few feet away from him. The wind blows hard, whipping the note out of Junhui’s hand. It’s like the wind whispers to him, a warning. 

Something feels wrong. Junhui spins the dial on his watch and hits the button. The last thing he sees before he vanishes is a man in a black suit materializing into the room, crushing the spider under his shoe as his feet touch the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> λατρεία μου means adored one, though it's a phrase that's a bit lost in translation


	6. 1994

_His shoulder blots out the stars but  
_ _the minutes don’t stop.  
_ _He covers my body with his body but  
_ _the minutes don’t stop.  
_ _-Richard Siken_

  
  
  


The first thing Junhui hears is the ocean, and at first he thinks he’s still in Greece. The breeze is warm, fluttering the chiton he’s still wearing. The moon hangs round and full over the ocean, waves battering the brown sand. 

He has no idea where he is. He looks down at his watch and the screen illuminates, white and useless as always. He checks the other one. 1994. Maybe his outfit won’t be as out of place as he fears. He takes a moment to gather his bearings. The men in black are still after him. He hopes he picked a good place to hide.

He sits down in the sand and burrows his feet in. It’s then that he realizes he’s left the flask Hyungwon gave him somewhere between the War and Greece. He feels sick. Hyungwon will probably punish him somehow, maybe force him to go back and get it, or worse, alter the timeline so that he goes somewhere else, no memory of the last places he’s been. Where is he now? He needs a plan. 

He can’t stop thinking about Mingyu’s note. The waves crash against the shore, but nothing could ever be loud enough to drown out his thoughts. The stars aren’t quite as bright as Greece. He looks up at them and his heart twists. It’s too soon, kind of cruel really, that he’s ended up in a place so similar but so vastly different.

He falls back against the sand, indulges himself and lets a few tears leak from the corner of his eyes. Maybe it would be better to let the men in black suits catch him. Maybe if he throws both watches into the sea he can stay here forever and live out his life in 1994. His parents were always quite fond of the era. By 2047 he’ll be his grandparents’ age. It’s not such a bad trade off.

The urgency to move is ever present, but each jump in time makes him feel a little more helpless. He has no money, no food, no clue what language is even spoken here. It’s entirely possible someone will find him and have him arrested with the way he’s dressed.

He’s almost committed to the idea of taking his chances in some other time when he hears footsteps, shoes squeaking against the sand. He should sit up. He should run. The problem is he doesn’t have the energy.

He does pick his head up though, if only to make sure he’s not in any real danger. It could be one of the men in black, after all. Instead, there’s a boy, obviously drunk, bleach blonde hair and ripped up jeans and a worn flannel shirt stumbling toward him. It’s obvious he’s not aware of Junhui’s presence at all. The boy stumbles closer and closer to the water, one wrong step away from planting face first into it.

Junhui sighs and stands up, brushing the sand off his back as well as he can. If he can just get him to sit down, maybe sober up a little — 

The moon disappears behind a cloud and the boy finally loses his footing, going down face first into the water. He doesn’t get up. Junhui runs over to him. He’s heavy, but Junhui manages to yank him out of the water and onto the sand. The waves rush over both of their legs. The boy coughs and takes a gasping breath.

“Fuck, did my Dad send you?” he asks. English. 

Junhui almost groans out loud. He can string together some basic sentences, but eventually he’s going to have to let his watch do the talking.

“No,” Junhui says in English. “What is your name?”

It’s then that the moon reappears, full and clear and bright. Junhui looks down at the blonde boy half in his lap and isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry.

“Matthew Kim,” he says.

“Can you speak Korean?” Junhui asks. 

Mingyu, no, _Matthew_ , furrows his eyebrows, still very drunk. Then he smirks, something bitter and twisted changing the shape of his mouth in a way Junhui has never seen before.

“Now I _know_ Daddy sent you.” He sits up, wobbling slightly, before pushing back up to his feet. He looks down at Junhui and his eyes are still hazy. “Get me back into the house, then consider your job done.”

Junhui stands up. Mingyu is thankfully too drunk to comment on his clothes. He’s also too drunk to walk back to wherever they are, and Junhui has to steady him with a hand around his waist. It seems that Junhui appeared on a private beach, shops and condos to the left but bare beach on the right. That’s the way they walk, serpentine but generally forward. Junhui finds himself in front of a huge two-story beach house. The porch is white and wraps around the entire back of the house. The windows look floor to ceiling from the outside.

The lights are all off, and Junhui wonders if there’s anyone home.

“Mingyu —” Junhui starts before he can catch himself. Hazy eyes narrow at him. 

“ _Don’t_ call me that. Or are you so new you really can’t understand?” he slurs. His words are icy. Junhui wonders what exactly the relationship between Mingyu and his father is. “Fuck, I’m too drunk to speak Korean right now. Just —” Mingyu stops them halfway up the stairs. He looks at Junhui like he’s just noticing him for the first time. The moonlight catches on their faces, half light and half shadow. “Fine,” he says dismissively, “Call me whatever you want.”

Junhui finally gets them both into the house. The door is unlocked and once inside Mingyu walks right out of Junhui’s hands and into the kitchen, downing an entire glass of water before sitting heavily in a chair. He presses his face against the wood. 

“I haven’t even made the news yet,” Mingyu mumbles, “Why did he send a babysitter?”

Junhui figures this cover is a blessing in disguise. No explanation needed at all. It’s better to keep the lie until Mingyu sobers up. He can worry about the truth, or at least a convincing enough lie later.

Mingyu sighs. “Whatever. Don’t answer that. I’m going to bed, babysitter. Call Daddy and tell him I didn’t do anything to fuck up his premiere week.”

He pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at Junhui again. He squints like that will help him make out Junhui’s appearance properly, like he needs to see him.

“I don’t think you’re new at all,” he says, the words coming out crystal clear. “I swear I’ve seen you before.”

Fuck.

Mingyu keeps staring at him and Junhui leans against the counter, his weight resting against the granite.

It feels like a lifetime of staring before Mingyu finally shrugs and walks further into the house. He waits until he hears a door slam before he finally relaxes. Mingyu didn’t say he couldn’t sleep here, thank god, because the other option is just sleeping on the beach.

He follows the same path Mingyu took and finds himself in a formal living room, further down he finds some kind of entertainment area, and after that is a room off to the side. A den, maybe? Junhui isn’t familiar with layouts for mansions.

There’s a couch. It’s cream with huge ugly flowers stitched into the fabric. He’s pretty sure there are pictures of his parents as kids with this same couch in the background. Maybe it’s a product of the era, every home full of the same furniture and television sets. There’s no blanket but he doesn’t mind. The adrenaline from the day’s events have him tired enough that he falls asleep as soon as he’s laying down.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

Junhui wakes up to the sound of cabinets slamming, a tea kettle whistling, and the smell of burning toast. There’s shouting, too. Mingyu’s voice echoes through the house. 

“And tell Dad that the next time he sends someone to check on me he should make sure they’re fucking _fluent_. I won’t speak to him any other way, and I sure as hell won’t speak to some hired _lackey_ in Korean,” Mingyu growls out. There’s another slam, the tea kettle’s dying whistle, and then silence.

Junhui takes a deep breath and walks toward the kitchen.

He’s greeted by Mingyu, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing last night. His bleached hair is rumpled from sleep and he’s glaring at the cordless phone in his hand. When Junhui walks in he glances up, looks back down at the phone almost shamefully, then sighs.

“Hey,” he says softly. He sets the phone down on the counter next to him and pours hot water from the kettle into a mug. He holds it out to Junhui. “I’m sorry. For everything. I was really fucked up last night. And for waking you up, too. I hope you didn’t hear too much of my phone call.”

Junhui sighs and clicks his watch over to the translation function. Mingyu’s speaking too fast for him to understand. The words flash across the screen and Junhui nods, meeting his eyes.

“You can speak however you want to me as long as I can speak to you like this and you understand.”

Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut, rubs his temples with his fingers and nods.

“Yeah, god, sorry, my head fucking _hurts_. I don’t even remember getting home last night.”

Junhui takes a sip of the tea Mingyu made for him. It tastes like a bag of tea, like his childhood, strangely nostalgic.

“Well, you fell face first into the ocean and I had to carry you back here.” Mingyu looks at him with wide eyes and Junhui grins. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything before that.”

“It’s not the first time,” Mingyu says. He turns away from Junhui and pulls an orange bottle out of the cabinet, popping two white pills into his mouth and swallowing them dry. “It won’t be the last, either.”

“What does your father do, exactly?” Junhui asks, curiosity winning out over keeping up the lie.

Mingyu stares at him, and it’s like a lightbulb turns on in his mind.

“You don’t work for Dad at all, do you? Shit, then who are you?” Mingyu picks up the phone. “I’m calling the police. Do you have any idea who I _am_?”

Junhui sighs. For some reason the idea of Mingyu calling the cops on him is ridiculous instead of frightening. 

“My name is Wen Junhui, or Jun if that’s easier. And I have absolutely no idea who you are.” The half truth of it tastes acrid in his mouth. _I know you, I’ve known you_. He can’t say that. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea where this is.”

Mingyu stares at him harder. “So, what? You expect me to believe that you came to Los Angeles, and just got _amnesia_ or something?”

“I’m,” Junhui starts. The air is tense, and he’s starting to feel afraid. Mingyu’s thumb hovers over the dial button on the phone. Junhui bites his lip. Fuck it. “I’m on the run. I’m being chased by men in black suits, and if they catch me the best case scenario is prison for the rest of my life.”

Mingyu tosses the phone onto the counter in front of him, the clatter of plastic on granite making Junhui jump. 

“Oh, perfect. You’re not a stalker, you’re a fucking _criminal_ ,” Mingyu spits, his eyes narrowing. “Gonna kidnap the son of the head of Paramount?” Mingyu laughs bitterly. “Hate to break it you, man, but Daddy won’t give you a penny for me. He’d probably shake your hand for getting me out of the way.”

Junhui sets the mug of tea down on the counter. “God, will you just _listen_ to me? I’m not here to kidnap you. I didn’t mean to break the law, but where I’m from that doesn’t really matter. I don’t have anywhere else to go. Every second they get closer to catching me. I can leave right now, walk out of here and you never have to see me again. I —”

“ _No_ ,” Mingyu rushes out, cutting him off. It shocks them both into silence. 

Mingyu’s hand shoots over his mouth, like he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. Junhui’s jaw drops and he has to snap his mouth shut. Junhui stares at Mingyu because he can, because he wants to, because Mingyu is blonde in 1994 and it makes his skin even more beautiful, his irises golden. 

Mingyu takes his hand off his mouth after a few minutes. A series of expressions crosses his face until he settles on an almost cheeky smirk.

“I can’t think of anything Daddy would hate more than letting a total stranger who is also a wanted criminal into my house.”

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

It takes two full days for Mingyu to recover from whatever hangover he has. It turns out the encyclopedia on his watch has answers. Junhui reads up on the Kim family, sneaking glances at his watch when Mingyu is looking away or in the shower. Mingyu’s father actually does work for Paramount. Started as a grip and worked his way up to executive producer, very American Dream. It means Mingyu’s family are millionaires. It also means that at 23, Mingyu’s spent the majority of his life in the spotlight, television interviews and movie premiers, tabloids and some show called Entertainment Tonight.

Mingyu is nice enough to give Junhui some clothes, a worn tee shirt with a huge graphic on the front, a smiling face with X’s for eyes, and some dark wash jeans. He plays CDs at full volume nonstop. It’s loud and angry and Junhui kind of likes it. What he likes more is watching Mingyu scream out the lyrics on the stairs, strumming an air guitar and really, he ought to be on stage. Mingyu _really_ likes attention. He goes out on the beach, Junhui staying safely on the porch, and shows off as much of his body as he can, bathes in the attention and praise like he’s been deprived of it his entire life.

And maybe he has.

“Dad kicked me out when I bleached my hair,” Mingyu tells him over dinner one night. Junhui takes a bite of rice and it feels like he’s home, like he’s eating his own mother’s cooking after being away at university. “He said it was the last straw. The parties, the booze, he didn’t care about any of that shit.” Mingyu takes a sip of water and gives the glass one of his bitter smiles. “God forbid I change my appearance and bring shame to the family. Just wait until I get a tattoo. He’s gonna disown me.”

It’s an almost helpless feeling, like Junhui is watching a car crash in real time. He can see it happening so clearly but he can’t do a single thing to stop it. He reaches out and lays his hand over Mingyu’s, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry,” Junhui says. The words grate in his throat, so many unsaid things left behind.

Mingyu’s eyes well up with tears almost instantly. He pulls his hand away from Junhui and scrubs his eyes hastily, taking a few breaths as he tries to keep whatever it is inside. When he looks back to Junhui his lashes are wet. He keeps his hands at nose height, like he’s trying to hide himself behind them.

“Are you sure you’re new around here, Jun? I swear I’ve seen you before.” Mingyu sniffs. “Maybe we went to church together? Does your family work around here?”

And really, Jun’s been expecting it since the first night. 

He’s told as much of the truth as he can. So he shakes his head. “I haven’t even been in the country long enough to learn the language.”

Mingyu looks at him with that same scrutiny, like he’s willing himself to connect the dots, but eventually he sighs and picks up his chopsticks.

“I guess you have a point.”

  
  
  


~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

  
  
  


Junhui wakes up (in a guest bedroom, Mingyu is nice enough to give him free reign of the huge house) to the sound of tires squealing in the driveway. He rolls onto his stomach to look out the window, unsurprised to see Mingyu’s bright red convertible peel away. Mingyu leaves the house without him pretty regularly. He meets with some agent or another, goes to the gym, attends events to purposefully ignore engagements with his father. Even in the week or so he’s been here Junhui has seen it happen quite a few times.

Junhui spends the day on the porch, watching the ocean with a horrible ache in his heart. The sun is setting when the front door slams shut. Junhui turns to look into the house and even from the porch he can tell Mingyu is absolutely wasted. There’s a bottle of some dark liquor in his hand and he takes a long swig, leaning against the granite in the kitchen. He notices Junhui after a few minutes, his eyes blinking open and recognition finally pulling the corner of his mouth into a smirk.

Junhui sighs. Mingyu in 1994 is a lot, in some ways worse off than any other Mingyu he’s met. He’s not sure if Mingyu wants his help, if he wants to talk to him about anything at all. It’s like he can barely stand him, but he refuses to let Junhui leave.

Mingyu walks out to the porch slowly and leans against the door frame. He looks down at Junhui with an almost hungry look, like Junhui is some forbidden fruit he’s just decided he’s allowed to eat. It lights him up so intensely that he has to look down at the floor.

Mingyu is incredibly attractive. He always is, but every time he sees him it’s worse. Junhui has to take a deep breath to steady himself. Mingyu doesn’t know him at all. There is nothing between them because they barely know each other. Junhui has spent months with Kim Mingyu. A vague sense of knowing someone can’t compare to the fondness wrapping his heart like vines.

“I hate this,” Mingyu says, voice low. Junhui’s eyes snap up to his. He feels very much like prey, caught in the wolf’s gaze, unable to look away. “Dad is going to Atlanta for three months to shoot a movie and Mom —” He stops then, squeezing his eyes shut. He takes a swig from the bottle dangling loosely in his hand, exhaling audibly as the alcohol burns his throat. “The last time he was gone that long Mom ended up in the papers, doped up in some stranger’s hotel room. She was in rehab for two weeks before he finally came back.”

Junhui doesn’t say anything. There aren’t really words to fix this.

Mingyu laughs, a bitter, ugly sound. “When Mom called me, strung out of her fucking mind, do you know what he said to me? ‘ _Mingyu, I would die without you. If you leave me I’ll die_.’ She only calls me Mingyu, only speaks to me in Korean when it’s serious.”

Mingyu takes a few shaky steps and sits down next to Junhui on the porch. He passes the bottle to Junhui without a word. He takes it but doesn’t drink from it.

“Isn’t it the most cliche fucking life you’ve ever heard? Rich father ignores his trainwreck of a son and addict wife because she’s beautiful and the son, well, he’s going to straighten out and inherit the empire once he gets over this little rebellious phase.”

Junhui reaches out and presses Mingyu’s head against his shoulder. Mingyu follows easily, sighing at little as he gets comfortable. This close Junhui can smell the alcohol on his breath, sickly sweet, and the cologne he’s doused himself in. It’s almost dizzying how quickly it takes hold in his lungs, like carbon monoxide.

“He deserves all of it. Every outrageous credit card bill, every time his name is attached to mine in the tabloids. I want to _ruin his life_.”

“But what about you? This isn’t good for you. How long can you really live like this?”

Mingyu’s hand fiddles with the hem of Junhui’s shirt and he freezes under the touch. Mingyu presses his face into the side of Junhui’s neck, his breath like fire on his skin.

“I lied to you, a little,” Mingyu says, his lips ghosting against Junhui’s skin with each word. He shudders but Mingyu doesn’t react to it. “Daddy didn’t kick me out because of my hair. It’s because I like men, because he had to pay a lot of money to make some pictures go away.”

“What are you —” Junhui starts, breathless. Mingyu pulls away from him, his hand still on his waist. His eyes look clearer than they have any right to with the amount he’s had to drink.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.” Mingyu takes one of Junhui’s hands and places it on his thigh. His eyes go half lidded and Junhui feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. “You’re attracted to me. God I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“You’re drunk,” is what Junhui says. It’s true. Both things are true, really, but Junhui yanks his hand off of Mingyu’s leg and stands up. He’s not going to let this escalate. “It doesn’t matter if I’m attracted to you or not. You’re not thinking clearly.” Mingyu looks up, his face somewhere between a puppy denied his treat and full blown rage. “We can talk about this when you sober up, if you want, but right now you need to drink some water and sleep this off.”

Mingyu’s face crumbles. He bites his lip, eyes shiny, and falls back against the porch with a rather painful sounding thud. 

“ _I’m sorry, Junnie. Please. Please don’t leave. Don’t be mad_ ,” Mingyu whispers in slurred Korean. 

Junhui’s heart feels like it’s going to crack open. He gives in with almost no hesitation, squatting back down and running his fingers through Mingyu’s hair gently. 

“I’m not mad, Mingyu. I’m not going to leave. Let’s get you inside, hm? You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Junhui manages to coax Mingyu into a sitting position and then finally to his feet. Once they’re both in the house, a full glass of water downed slowly but completely, Junhui gets Mingyu situated on one of the couches. His hand lingers in Mingyu’s hair long after he’s passed out.

_Junnie._

His heart slams into his ribs so hard his vision turns to static.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

It’s another two days of Mingyu curing his hangover with greasy takeout and painkillers. Junhui is starting to get used to it. Mingyu crashes and burns and he never talks about it. He picks up like these tiny breakdowns aren’t a regular part of his life. His eyes linger on Junhui, gaze burning his skin like they’re back on the porch, the whisper of his lips against his neck.

Junhui does his best to coax Mingyu into doing normal things, and by the end of the week Mingyu is back to being his happy, overly cocky, Hollywood born self. They walk to a park near the beach house. Mingyu leaves him on a bench to go buy them some drinks, and not five minutes after he walks away a shadow appears next to his own on the grass. 

“Hello, Junhui. My name is Xu Minghao. I’ve been looking for you.”

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

The meeting with Minghao leaves him more than shaken. Mingyu comes back to find him hugging his knees to his chest, shaking and sweating as he tries to regulate his breathing. Acting nonchalant in front of Minghao was easy enough, but the reality that it’s _Xu Minghao_ chasing him, that it’s only a matter of time until he’s caught —

Mingyu sits next to him, drinks tossed carelessly to the ground. 

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” Mingyu asks. 

He wraps an arm around Junhui’s shoulders, and it feels wrong somehow to lean into his touch, to seek comfort when Mingyu is the one who needs it more. Mingyu doesn’t give him the choice, just presses him against his chest, as much of a hug as he can accomplish from Junhui’s position. He rubs soothing circles into his back. 

“Breathe okay? Just breathe with me.”

It takes him what feels like hours to actually calm down. He times his breathing with Mingyu, in and out, until his shoulders finally relax. He can’t bring himself to let go of his legs. 

“They found me,” Junhui whispers. He doesn’t even know if Mingyu can hear him. “They found me. They’re here.”

Mingyu scoffs gently, running his fingers through Junhui’s hair.

“No one is going to take you.” _No one is going to take you_. Junhui’s entire body spasms and he gasps. “I’m Matthew fucking Kim. Nothing bad will happen to you if I’m here.” Mingyu’s hand wanders to his cheek and he turns Junhui to face him. “And I _am_ here. Okay? I’ve got you.”

Junhui is half convinced that Mingyu is going to kiss him. Junhui wants him to, and he’s pretty sure that no one would even bat an eye if Mingyu kissed a man in public. They don’t, but Mingyu does stroke his thumb over Junhui’s cheek gently before he pulls away.

“I’ll take you somewhere that always helps me relax. Come on.” Mingyu holds out his hand and Junhui takes it.

They’re in the car for three hours. It’s the city traffic, Junhui is sure. There are two separate occasions where they are at a standstill on the interstate, nothing but Mingyu blasting his favorite Pearl Jam CD (he only knows because Mingyu never shuts up about them) to drone out the sound of car horns. The drive gets scenic once they get off the interstate, beaches as far as the eye can see and small towns dotting the landscape. 

They end up, surprisingly enough, at the beach. The sand is beautifully brown and undisturbed. The sun is setting, turning the water orange and purple, the sky alive with color. He parks in a lot next to the pier and hops out with a single look back to Junhui. Mingyu takes a deep breath of air and breathes it out with a sigh, smile creeping across his face and suddenly he looks his age, carefree and radiant. Junhui gets out of the car and follows Mingyu to the water.

The beach is empty. 

“Red flags,” Mingyu says as explanation, like he can read Junhui’s mind. “Can’t swim, can’t surf. Everyone’s gone for the day.”

The waves batter the shore, an easy, comfortable rhythm. Junhui sits down near the water and wiggles his toes into the sand. Mingyu sits beside him, close enough that they could hold hands, that their legs almost touch. It’s not the first time Junhui has wanted to. 

He keeps his hand in the sand between them, a subtle kind of invitation.

“This has been my favorite beach since I was a kid,” Mingyu says. His whole face is glowing. Happiness is amazing like that. It paints Mingyu into a totally different version of himself. “It’s so beautiful. The water is always warm. At night, there’s crabs that burrow up from underground and run all over.” Mingyu hums. “If I’m feeling really bad, I’ll come here.”

Junhui turns to look at Mingyu, his profile blazing from the setting sun. His blonde hair glows too, almost white. Junhui wonders if Mingyu will understand, if he’ll be in even worse shape when Junhui goes. He’s already thought about it. California isn’t so bad a place to settle down. Mingyu likes him enough to keep him around. Maybe things will work out for both of them.

“Thank you for showing me, for bringing me here,” Junhui says. 

Tension bleeds out of him like the waves pull it out, each receding wave taking Xu Minghao and his cold eyes with them into the sea. When he looks back to the ocean he can feel Mingyu’s pinky finger curl around his. Heat flares from the point of contact through his entire body.

“I’ll have to leave soon,” Junhui says, the words like swallowing glass. “It’s not safe for me anymore.”

A crane walks at the edge of the water, beak skimming the foam. It comes up with a fish. When he turns to look at Mingyu his eyes are soft with something Junhui doesn’t want to think about.

“Is there a place where you aren’t on the run?” Mingyu asks. Junhui hums. The crane walks further down the beach.

“If there is, I haven’t found it yet.” Junhui decides to say something a little true, a little dangerous. “It’s not like I’ve met another me that could tell me.”

Mingyu looks away, staring at the dark water as the last of the sun’s rays dip below the horizon.

“I haven’t either.” Mingyu’s cheeks are pink even with the lack of light. “Met another you. I mean.”

Mingyu’s fingers curl around his, and then they’re holding hands for real. Junhui’s breath catches.

“I still want to kiss you,” Mingyu says, his usual cockiness replaced by a soft kind of earnestness. “I haven’t had a drink in days and I still want to kiss you.”

“I figured you didn’t remember. You never said anything,” Junhui whispers, breathless. “You barely know me. I’m a wanted man, remember?” He tries to joke but it comes out weak, half-hearted.

Mingyu smirks, inching closer until their legs are touching. He laces their fingers together properly. Stars glitter into view, twinkling overhead.

“I don’t care. _I_ want you, and that’s all I really care about right now.”

Mingyu leans closer, their faces an inch apart.

“Someone, someone might see,” Junhui breathes, his last weak attempt to stop something he doesn’t want to stop at all.

Mingyu’s nose brushes against his.

“Let them.”

Mingyu kisses him, a press of lips that morphs into desperation clawing through Junhui’s guts, a hand ripping through his organs and up to the surface, bloody and free.

He moans against Mingyu’s mouth and wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Mingyu maneuvers him into his lap, a scalding hand on his waist, creeping under his faded band shirt and spreading over as much of him as he can reach.

Mingyu doesn’t taste much like anything, just warm, maybe a little sweet but only because Junhui has never wanted to kiss anyone in his entire life as much as he’s wanted to kiss Kim Mingyu.

 _I wanted to kiss you in Greece. I’ve wanted you for such a long time_. Junhui tries to pour it all into Mingyu, tries to make him understand. Mingyu’s grip tightens on his waist as he drags him closer. Junhui’s hand goes tight in Mingyu’s hair and he adjusts the angle, slips his tongue inside and traces every inch of Mingyu’s mouth, commits it to memory. The first time. The last time, maybe.

He thinks of the easy confidence of Mingyu in Greece, the slight tremble to Mingyu’s hands in the cabin. He thinks of Mingyu now, under him, an interesting mix of the two. Mingyu kisses him with that same kind of tremble, an uneasiness that’s not shared by the sure, steady grip of his hands. Junhui wants to _ruin_ him.

Eventually they break for air. Mingyu presses his face against Junhui’s shoulder and pants. His hands slide out from Junhui’s shirt and splay across his thighs. Junhui looks up at the stars, the waves crashing around him, and he thinks that maybe he’d stop the whole world if it meant they could stay like this.

“I, we should,” Mingyu starts, lifting his head slowly. His cheeks are flushed, lips red and full and Junhui has to dig his nails into his palms to keep from kissing him again. “It’s not that I don’t want to keep going. I just —”

Junhui grins. Mingyu is surprising, always. He ruffles Mingyu’s hair before sliding off his lap. 

“I understand. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere, right?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen before he, too, breaks into a huge grin.

“Let’s go back home.”

  
  


~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

  
  


The drive back to the beach house is comfortable. Mingyu holds his hand the entire way, only letting go when traffic gets more congested, then slipping back together like they were never apart at all.

“I’ll ask Dad about what we can do for you tomorrow. Whatever trouble you’re in, we can fix it,” Mingyu says. He kisses him one more time before heading to his room, slow and deep, like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

Junhui kind of feels that way himself.

He settles into his own room, and his eyes just fall shut when a hand grips his arm, yanking him out of bed. There’s no time to even shout before he disappears with the man, reappearing in a place he didn’t think he’d ever be again.

Hyungwon’s office is exactly the same. Same huge oak desk, same globe and calendar. Same tall man, same dark suit. Same icy eyes. There are shoes on Junhui’s feet he didn’t fall asleep wearing.

“You lost my flask,” Hyungwon says as a greeting. He tosses it onto the desk where it lands with a thud. “I’ve retrieved it for you, with some difficulty.” He stands up and smoothes his hands over the front of his jacket. “I’m a bit disappointed in you Junhui.”

“I didn’t mean to lose it,” Junhui says as the man who brought him here drops his arm like he’s been burned. He rubs the already forming bruise with a hiss. “I’ve been meaning to go back for it. I just, I’ve been running from —”

Hyungwon strides forward and slams him into the wall, knocking the breath out of him. Their faces are inches apart. 

“You have a _job_ to do, Junhui,” he spits, eyes hard and pitch black, “You let Xu Minghao find you because you’re too busy playing house with a _dead man_.”

Junhui’s mind grinds to a halt. He’s frozen, like time has stopped, like he’s about to jump from one year to another.

“W- _what_ ,” Junhui stutters.

Hyungwon’s smile is full of mirth. “He doesn’t exist. I’ve watched you travel all over time and find him, again and again. Did you really think I wouldn’t look into him?”

Junhui’s heart squeezes so tightly in his chest he’s sure it will burst. 

“I don’t understand. You’re saying, Mingyu, he’s —”

“Some time before 2047 Kim Mingyu is wiped out. Eliminated, as the authorities call it. He’s gone.” Hyungwon smirks, his hand loosening. “In fact, the boy in 2017 might be the last one.”

It doesn’t change much in the grand scheme of things. Junhui has sort of known that Hyungwon could take him, take Mingyu from any time of his choosing, stick them wherever Junhui wants and let them live out the rest of their lives. But he’d always thought that Mingyu would still, well, that there would _be_ a Kim Mingyu in the future. 

Eliminated.

Anger seeps into his bones, prickles the corners of his eyes. There are far too many emotions swirling around. Hyungwon steps back and Junhui peels himself off of the wall.

“I’ll keep Minghao busy. I’ll get you your energy.” Junhui takes a breath and straightens his back, meeting Hyungwon’s eyes. “But I’ll expect the reward to be worth it.”

Hyungwon stares him down for a long time.

“If they catch you, I won’t save you. You’ll be on your own. But if you manage to outrun Minghao, I’ll alter the entire course of history if that’s what you want.”

Junhui’s clothes still smell like Mingyu’s laundry detergent. A hint of his cologne sticks to the collar and he breathes it in, lets it ground him.

He could have him. Anywhere, any time.

He locks eyes with Hyungwon, gives him a single nod, and vanishes.


	7. 1635

Junhui spends a day in Victorian France, a night on an island with fluorescent water, two days in Cape Town in the early 2000s. It’s fear that moves him. The men in black suits follow him like ghosts, and every moment their icy hands inch closer to his throat. Eventually he spins the dial again, presses it in and hopes he can outrun Minghao by going somewhere he might not expect.

The stars glitter in the clearest sky Junhui has seen since Greece. The air is clean and the moon is bright. Junhui glances down at the watch. 1635. There are mountains to his right, snow-capped and glittering even in the moonlight. To his left is a palace, a garden, and a man staring at him, motionless.

Junhui isn’t even sure what country he’s in. He tries Korean, first. 

“Please don’t be frightened,” he says. The man bristles. Junhui steps closer. He looks down and realizes he’s still wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. He couldn’t look more like an outsider if he tried. 

“Your language...who are you?” the man asks. He’s holding a sword, ready to strike. “What kingdom sent such an obvious spy?”

The language is strange to Junhui, too. A little like Korean and a little like Mandarin. He can understand it because his watch translates it for him, but there’s no way for him to emulate it. The man, who Junhui realizes must be a guard, steps closer and holds the sword to his throat.

“To the King with you,” he says. Junhui has no choice but to follow.

The inside of the palace is more amazing than history books could ever hope to convey. Everything has weight, the tapestries, the gold vases, the plush cushions in the throne room. Even the floor that Junhui is pushed down on is worthy of a King, solid, hard wood that makes his knees ache almost instantly. 

The room is empty except for him and the two men pressing on his shoulders to force his head low. It’s probably the middle of the night. The King will have to be woken up for this.

There is no grand announcement of his arrival, no shouted titles, no procession. A wooden door slides open, and Junhui watches three pairs of feet walk into the room. The King’s shoes look no different from the men flanking him. It’s strangely comforting. Junhui wonders if everyone brought before the King like this feels the same way.

“I have never seen such blatant disrespect,” the King says. Junhui’s blood freezes in his veins. “What is your Kingdom? Who has ordered you into my lands?”

Junhui struggles in the guards’ hold without thinking of what it must look like from the outside. His brain is screaming. He cannot be here. He has to get away.

A harsh kick to his back and he almost falls on his face, just managing to get his hands under him before he cracks his skull on the wood. Without hands holding his shoulders down, he looks up.

He’s dressed in crimson red silk with a black inner robe. His hair is almost down to his waist, long and straight, disheveled fringe in his eyes. He is tall and broad and his eyes are still the most beautiful color Junhui has ever seen.

“ _Seja_ , what are your orders?” the guard behind him asks.

Mingyu, because Junhui knows it’s him even without hearing his name, stares at him. The eyes of someone with absolute power carry an intensity Junhui isn’t used to. Mingyu’s eyes are heavy, gold plated. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs. _Seja. Seja_. Junhui latches onto it. Mingyu isn’t King, not yet. If he’s here, then Junhui must not be in as much danger as he seems to be. If a spy’s presence in the Kingdom is only worthy of notifying the Crown Prince, then he probably won’t die.

A foot between his shoulder blades pushes his nose to the wood, and Junhui feels cold steel at the side of his throat.

“I will carry out your will.”

The sword leaves his neck. 

It’s funny. Junhui always thought he would be scared of dying. Even with medical advancements, death is not something that can be overcome even in Junhui’s time. He hasn’t seen a single friend in weeks, maybe even months. He will die in 1635 and no one will even know that he’s gone. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his body.

The sword whistles through the air. Mingyu shouts. _Stop_. The sword is just pressing into the side of his neck when it halts.

The guards take their hands off him. Junhui’s breath rattles out of his lungs.

“Take him to the dungeons. I will question him myself.”

“Yes, _Seja_ ,” the guards shout in perfect unison. Junhui is hoisted up by his arms, a line of blood rushing down his skin at the treatment. He catches a glimpse of Mingyu before he’s carried out of the room.

When their eyes meet Mingyu’s are wide, his mouth slightly open. Junhui doesn’t know if it’s recognition or the realization that he almost ordered someone’s death. It could be either. Junhui can’t afford to be hopeful anymore.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

The dungeons are something the movies get right, at least. Junhui can’t be sure of the season, but the dungeon is damp and cold and there’s nothing inside but a pot and a single threadbare blanket. Junhui refuses to even sit on it, let alone use it for warmth. He sits on the cold stone floor instead, cross-legged, arms tight over his stomach.

There is a single window at the very top of the wall, so tiny it barely lets in any light. Junhui still has both watches. The guards didn’t think to take them. It doesn’t help with the passage of time, though. It drags, minute by minute. One hour, then two, then four. Junhui has just shut his eyes when the door leading into the cells finally clangs open. The footsteps are soft, but the number of people makes them louder.

Mingyu stands at the front of his cell flanked by two guards. Six total, including the guards already stationed in the dungeon. Mingyu holds up his hand.

“Leave me.”

The guards say nothing, just turn on their heels and walk out of the room. Absolute power. Junhui can’t help the shiver that works its way up his spine. Mingyu’s eyes lock with his and he drops his eyes to the floor. He’s not in a position to offend the Crown Prince.

“Your name,” Mingyu says. An order.

Junhui takes a breath. Answering him won’t change anything.

“Junhui, or Jun, if you want, Your Highness.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows furrow at his answer.

“Your language is so strange. I think I understand some parts, but I cannot make out all of your words.”

There are two options. Junhui weighs them, the watch or a bleak hope. To escape, or — 

He’s never been good at running away from Mingyu.

“ _Can you understand me now?_ ” Junhui asks in Mandarin. It feels strange on his tongue, like speaking to the dead.

Mingyu’s eyes spark. Recognition, but he looks like he’s not happy about it.

“So it is true,” Mingyu answers him in Mandarin, almost no trace of an accent. He frowns. “You are a spy.”

“ _No_ ,” Junhui rushes out, eyes flying up to Mingyu’s face before he lowers them again, “No, Your Highness. I know it must seem very strange that I appeared suddenly in your palace, but I am no spy.”

Mingyu is quiet for a long time. There is no sound to fill the silence. Junhui’s blood rushes in his ears.

“Jun,” Mingyu says. Junhui has to fight back the gasp that threatens to rip through his throat. Always _Jun_. “Are you from the Royal family?”

Junhui shakes his head, hoping a nonverbal answer doesn’t offend Mingyu.

He dares a glance up and Mingyu hums, the barest hint of smugness at the corner of his mouth. 

“No, you do not have Royal blood in you. You prostrate yourself too easily.” Junhui’s back straightens, shoulders tense. Mingyu’s words are like cold water pouring over his head. “But more than that, if I had seen you before I would not forget.”

The tension drips out of him bit by bit, until he looks up, meeting Mingyu’s eyes confidently.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, _Seja_ ,” he says, the tiniest teasing lilt to his words. It’s easier to conceal in the tones of his mother tongue. Mingyu’s eyebrows raise, amused more than annoyed.

“Tell me, Junhui, what letters are used for your name?”

Junhui takes a chance.

“I will tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Junhui knows Mingyu is in front of him, but he needs to hear it. Mingyu nods. His curiosity must win out.

“Handsome Jun, Brightness Hui. My family name is Wen.”

“As I thought. Your name suits you very much, Wen Junhui.” Mingyu pronounces his name like a prayer, and Junhui should have stopped falling for Mingyu after 1953 but he can’t seem to shake the habit.

“I am the Crown Prince, Kim Mingyu. Jade Min, Andromeda Gyu.”

A grin spreads across his face before he can stop it, and Mingyu gives him a strange look. It’s not like he can say _I never thought to look up your name, but it suits you, too,_ no way for him to say _of course your name is beautiful, it’s always beautiful._ Mingyu is the Crown Prince of Joseon, and Junhui wants to run his fingers through his long black hair and feel the finest silk in the country against his skin. Mingyu sighs, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly, like Junhui has passed some kind of test and now Mingyu can relax.

“I am to be King one day, Jun. My father would take one look at you, in your strange clothes, speaking this language, and he would have you executed.”

He grabs a keyring off the wall and unlocks the cell. The door swings open easily and Junhui stares, open mouthed.

“But I am not my father, and, though you have not told me the whole truth, I believe you are no spy.” 

Junhui stands, his knees cracking on the way up. His feet feel numb, and he walks shakily to the cell door. Mingyu lets him pass, but grabs his wrist before he can get too far.

“You will be confined to my quarters for the time being, at least until I find out the truth.”

 _Forever then_ , Junhui thinks dizzily as Mingyu leads him up the stairs, hand still on his wrist.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

Junhui arrives in Mingyu’s chambers to a flurry of servants, treated much more like a guest than a prisoner right away. He’s guided by gentle but capable hands into a bath, and honestly he can’t remember how long it’s been. Before he started trying to lose Minghao, at least. After that he’s dried and dressed in a white inner robe and a crimson red robe that matches Mingyu’s on top. He manages to retrieve both watches before his old clothes are carried out of the room. 

He catches a glimpse of himself in a small mirror and he wonders for a moment if this is what he’d look like in this time. He’d have longer hair, maybe tied in a knot at the top of his head, maybe loose, long and straight to the center of his back. Would he be a soldier? Royalty? Is there a Wen Junhui wandering around the Qing Dynasty totally unaware that his future self has met with a Crown Prince?

When he’s led back into the main chamber Mingyu is gone. Junhui is pushed into a chair and there’s nothing to do but sit and wait for him to get back. The servants busy themselves with their tasks, changing linens, dusting, gathering clothes to wash. Junhui fiddles with his watch, tries to read up on Joseon era Korea, refreshes himself on history that maybe took up a paragraph in his history textbook. 

He looks up as footsteps rapidly approach the chamber. The sliding door crashes open, and Mingyu is somewhere between anger and sadness, barely holding it together. A handsome man dressed in black robes follows behind him, mouth pulled into a grim line.

“He cannot do this. I — I _refuse_ ,” Mingyu shouts. The man in black shuts the door gently, though how much it will muffle Mingyu’s words is questionable.

“You know that he can, and he has. This matter is already settled between your fathers,” the man in black says. It sounds like it’s not the first time he’s said it.

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu pleads, turning to face him. He puts his hands on Wonwoo’s shoulders, squeezing. “I have never even _met_ her. I cannot be expected...my father would not _force me_ —”

Wonwoo sighs and puts his hands on Mingyu’s arms. Junhui isn’t sure what they are to each other. Advisor seems most likely, but Wonwoo is as young as they are. Their relationship seems more like friends. 

“You know if there was something I could do, I would. You are not just my Prince,” Wonwoo says, voice soft. He looks into Mingyu’s eyes. Junhui can’t see his expression. “You are my closest friend. All I can do is stay by your side and guide you to the best of my ability when the time comes.”

He has a clear view of Mingyu. There is a flash, so brief that Junhui only sees it because he’s intimately familiar with the emotion, anguish that crosses Mingyu’s face before he lets Wonwoo go. Their hands brush across each other as they separate. Junhui’s heart plummets into a bottomless pit. 

Wonwoo notices him just as he leaves the room, eyebrows raised, but he doesn’t comment on Junhui’s presence. Mingyu has probably filled him in anyway. When Wonwoo’s footsteps fade Mingyu sits heavily on the end of his bed and buries his face in his hands. Junhui doesn’t know if it would be better to leave him alone or to get him to talk about it. The silence stretches out, and just as Junhui is about to break the silence Mingyu does it for him.

“My father has arranged for me to marry the daughter of the Lee family, Lee Jihoon. I have one month,” Mingyu says, words muffled by his hands. He’s speaking in his own Korean again. Junhui doesn’t comment on it, just lets his watch translate for him.

Junhui stands and walks over to Mingyu. He wants to touch him. It’s easier for him to get his feelings across that way, always has been. Mingyu is the kind of person who takes to physical affection like a man in the desert takes to water, or at least every version of Mingyu Junhui has met so far has. They are all incredibly different, but the similarities are noticeable. 

Junhui reaches across the space and gently pries Mingyu’s hand away from his face. That touch, he figures, is a safe one. The fact that Mingyu is royalty complicates things, but Junhui doesn’t think Mingyu would punish him for this.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. Where I’m from, well, many people don’t even get married, but if that’s something you want to do, you could marry anyone.”

Mingyu’s eyes flick desperately up to his. Junhui knows, can see it in Mingyu’s face like looking into a mirror. 

“Anyone?”

Junhui squeezes Mingyu’s hand.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Junhui expects Mingyu to gasp, to order him to be executed for implying such a taboo thing. Instead Mingyu straightens his back, takes his hand back from Junhui and levels his eyes at him.

“There was a time when such feelings were not forbidden. When I am King, I —”

Mingyu stops, eyes wide as he realizes exactly what it is he’s saying. Junhui understands. He has to look at the ground to keep his heart from leaping out of his throat.

 _When I am King, I will make it right. I will be with the man I love_.

Junhui reaches for Mingyu again, running his hand through his long hair. Mingyu leans into the touch and Junhui steps closer, so close he’s almost touching Mingyu’s knees. 

“You can refuse, can’t you?” Junhui whispers. It’s probably treason, what he’s saying. It’s not his King, not his Kingdom, but treason all the same. “Change his mind?” Mingyu shakes his head and Junhui strokes the hair behind his ear. 

“The Lee family is very powerful. Their allegiance to the Kingdom is...delicate. If they were to side with the Qing Dynasty, Joseon would fall. Marriage will keep them loyal.” Mingyu looks up into Junhui’s eyes. There is hurt, but more than that, there is determination. “If I do not marry her, everything will be lost.”

 _It’s not fair_ , Junhui wants to say. Mingyu shouldn’t have to marry someone he’s never even met, someone he might not be able to love at all. Junhui opens his mouth to say something when the door opens. He jolts back from Mingyu like he’s done something wrong, and Mingyu looks at him with wide eyes.

“ _Seja_ , the King wishes you to accompany him,” the messenger says as he bows. Mingyu sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face one more time before he stands. 

“I will not be back until dark. I will make sure you are brought food, but you cannot leave this room. Do I have your word?”

Junhui nods. It takes monumental effort to resist smoothing his hand down the side of Mingyu’s face.

“I promise.”

Mingyu follows the messenger out of the room and Junhui is alone.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

  
  


By the time Mingyu returns to his quarters, Junhui has exhausted every possible thing to do in the space. He’d thumbed through every book on Mingyu’s shelves, he’d played three rounds of whatever tabletop game Mingyu had (probably not chess, but Junhui played it like it was), and he’d even fallen asleep on Mingyu’s bed until he was shaken awake by a servant with a look somewhere between horror and envy.

Junhui is pacing a serpentine pattern around the room when Mingyu opens the door. He doesn’t stop, too much restless energy, and Mingyu doesn’t comment on it. He shuts the door behind him and flops on the bed. The room is lit with a few candles, some tucked inside lanterns. It makes the room softer, somehow. Everything feels delicate.

“Jun, may I ask you something?”

Junhui continues his winding path around Mingyu’s quarters. The size is more like an apartment than a bedroom. There’s plenty of space for him to move.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he answers.

He hears Mingyu move on the bed with a sigh.

“How is it that you can understand me when I speak to you, but you cannot speak to me in my own language?”

Junhui finally stops. He’s a few steps away from Mingyu’s bed. Mingyu’s robe is parted slightly, revealing the black silk that touches his skin. The light from the room makes him glow, and Junhui feels like he’s underwater, no air for his lungs. It takes him a moment before he can speak.

“Well, I, there is no easy way to explain it, Your Highness. I’m afraid you’ll think it some kind of dark magic.”

He walks closer to the bed and holds out his hand. The watch is stark against the silk robes he’s dressed in. It looks almost comical.

Mingyu stares at it for a long time before shifting closer. He reaches out and runs his finger across the front. The screen lights up and he snatches his hand back like he’s been burned.

“What _is_ that?” he whispers. There is fear there, but also curiosity. Either he’s stopped caring if he ruins history, or each Mingyu he meets is a little more accepting. Maybe it’s some combination of the two.

“Where I’m from, people can talk to each other over continents. We have water in every home and lights powered by something much stronger than fire. This watch is much more than just a watch. It listens to your words and translates them for me, so I can understand you.”

Mingyu’s eyes slowly lift to his. There is something behind the look, a weight. Junhui wonders if he’s thinking about their earlier conversation. All the ways that Junhui’s time is different.

“You are right,” Mingyu says, a disbelieving laugh rushing past his lips, “It sounds like witchcraft. But I do not think you are evil. You are keeping me from speaking a language that fills me with dread, and though you must speak it to me, I am grateful.”

Junhui’s heart squeezes.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. If there was some other way, I would do it.”

Mingyu settles back against his pillows and gives him a small smile.

“My entire life is always about making sure I am comfortable. It is...refreshing, that you are not like that.”

Mingyu’s eyes slip closed, and Junhui stands there, awkward. Sleeping in the chair at the other end of the room won’t be ideal, but he can manage for a night or two.

He’s just made himself comfortable when Mingyu’s eyes fly open.

“Your bed. Let me,” Mingyu rushes out as he stands.

Instead of summoning servants, Mingyu walks over to a chest next to the head of his bed and pulls out a few blankets. He arranges them on the floor next to his bed, not at the foot, and Junhui is strangely grateful. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Junhui says, lifting the top blanket and settling down into the warmth.

Mingyu smiles down at him, soft and boyish and no matter how many times Junhui sees it he can’t get enough of it. 

_I think I’m in love with you_ , Junhui wants to say. _For a long time now_.

“Sleep well, Jun,” Mingyu says. He’s just settled under his blankets when servants appear wordlessly, extinguishing the candles, leaving a single dimmed lantern.

Junhui wonders how many more days he has until Minghao catches him.

He wonders if Mingyu will get married and never once know what it’s like to kiss someone he loves.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

  
  


The low sound of voices pulls Junhui out of his dream. He cracks his eyes open, and through the dimness he can see two figures on the other side of the door. 

“Wonwoo, please,” Mingyu pleads, his voice rising loud enough that Junhui can hear him, “I cannot bear this without you.”

Wonwoo sighs softly. “Mingyu, I will never leave you, you know that, but I cannot go with you to meet your bride.”

“Why? I believe we both know the reason. I want to hear you say it.”

Junhui holds his breath. Mingyu has probably been trying to wear Wonwoo down, to get him to admit something that won’t make a difference either way. His heart fissures.

“You are the most important person in my life,” Mingyu says, a waver in his voice that makes Wonwoo suck in a breath. “There is no place for me in this world without you. If things were different, I —”

“But they are not,” Wonwoo says, cutting Mingyu off. It’s loud enough that if Junhui wasn’t awake before he definitely would be now. “This is how it must be. You will marry the Lee daughter, you will be King. You will have a son, a daughter too if you are lucky, and I will be in your shadow for the rest of your days.”

There is some shuffling, like one of them struggles away from the other. Junhui sees Wonwoo’s back hit the door, Mingyu’s hands on either side of his head.

“You have never belonged in my shadow, Jeon Wonwoo,” Mingyu hisses, “Let me show you how it could be, just once. Let me show you where you belong.”

Both of them are breathing hard, soft pants in the dark. Junhui feels distinctly like a voyeur, but he can’t just fall back asleep, and he definitely can’t interrupt them. This might be the only change they’ll have to really talk.

Mingyu reaches for Wonwoo and makes a soft, pleading sound that Junhui has heard before, his mind shooting him back to California. Their shadows move closer, and Wonwoo takes a shaky breath.“I cannot do this,” Wonwoo says, and the sorrow in his words makes Junhui cover his mouth with his hand to keep quiet. “If we...if _I_ am able to have you, even for a moment, I do not think I will be able to go back to the way things must be.” Wonwoo steps back from the door. “They say she’s very beautiful. You will learn to love her. The Kingdom must come first.”

“ _You think that I would ignore my duty?!_ ” Mingyu yells and Junhui jolts, his foot knocking against a trunk. He hisses as quietly as he can. Mingyu and Wonwoo don’t make any indication that they heard him. “I will do what must be done, for my Kingdom and my people, but must I be denied even this?”

Their profiles are facing the door, now. They look across at each other, and Junhui watches Mingyu’s arm, a shadow caressing the face of another. He steps closer and Wonwoo visibly shudders.

“Let me kiss you, just once. I can bear anything if you will give me that.”

Mingyu’s words are hollow in the quiet. Wonwoo doesn’t speak for several heartbeats.

“I hope you will allow me to deny you, _Seja_. If you were to order me, I would have no choice.” Wonwoo’s exhale is shaky. “But you are not the man your father is. I have seen the King you will become. I hope you can forgive me for this.”

Wonwoo takes a step back, then another. His footsteps echo down the hall before they disappear, like dropping something into a drainpipe, the sound of it final. Junhui rolls away from the door and evens out his breaths just as Mingyu slides the door open. He can hear the hitched breathing as he cries, and as much as Junhui wants to reach for him, to comfort him, he knows that this isn’t something he can fix. Not unless Mingyu asks him to.

Mingyu settles under his blankets and curls in on himself, facing away from Junhui so that he’s free to watch, at least for a moment. Mingyu cries quietly for a long time, until the sun creeps above the horizon, the room slowly lightening.

Mingyu shifts and Junhui shuts his eyes. He hears the rustle of blankets, and then Mingyu’s hand is in his hair. Too soft, too gentle. It’s almost more than he can take.

“Jun, I wonder where it is I have seen you before,” Mingyu whispers. “I wonder why my heart aches less when I look at you. Do you think it is fair, that I must marry someone I have never met without ever knowing the touch of someone I care for?”

Junhui doesn’t answer him. Mingyu’s hand strokes idly through his hair.

“Tomorrow I will journey with my father to meet my bride. I will have to let you go, but I wonder if you will stay with me just a little longer.”

Junhui pretends to adjust in his sleep, curling into the warmth of Mingyu’s hand and humming softly. He can hear the fondness in Mingyu’s voice, pulling at his heart until he’s sure it’s going to burst open.

“Wonwoo is right, of course, but that does not make it any easier. Perhaps I _will_ learn to love her one day. I wonder, if I live dutifully, will I be happy in my next life? Could your magic tell me that, Jun?”

Junhui wants to tell him that he doesn’t know, there’s a gap of nearly half a millennium from now to 1953.

He wants to say, _I think you’re always a little happier with me_ , but he doesn’t.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

Mingyu spends most of his time outside of his quarters, and Junhui is left to entertain himself again. He’s put through the mortifying ritual of being bathed and given a new set of robes, yellow this time, the innermost still white. He spends the afternoon reading the recorded history of the Kim family, which doesn’t ease the ache in his chest. If anything, it makes the weight Mingyu carries on his shoulders that much heavier. Junhui can’t imagine what it must feel like to carry the fate of a nation. This is the first time Mingyu has been in love with someone else. In some ways, it hurts. But more than that, Junhui’s heart aches at the unfairness of it all. So many times Mingyu has to suffer, and so often there is nothing Junhui can do about it.

He wakes up and two things happen at once. First, he realizes he’s fallen asleep on Mingyu’s bed again. As he rubs the sleep from his eyes, he notices Mingyu laying on the other side, reading the book that slipped out of his hand when he fell asleep.

Junhui sits up so fast his yellow robe falls open to the sash that ties it shut.

“Your Highness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean —”

Mingyu holds up a hand, silencing him.

“Stay. It is surely more comfortable than the floor.” Mingyu gives him a small smile. “Besides, this will be your last night. It is time I treat you like a proper guest instead of a prisoner.”

Junhui stays. Mingyu lounging in bed, stripped of the weight of his title, his bloodline, makes his heart beat out of rhythm. 

“ _Seja_ ,” Junhui hums, teasing, “Do all of your prisoners sleep in your chambers?”

Mingyu pouts, of all things, and Junhui reaches out without thinking, smoothing his hand over Mingyu’s cheek with way too much familiarity to explain away. Mingyu leans into the touch. His skin is smooth and warm under Junhui’s hand.

“Only you,” he says, and the words are weighted, charged in a way Junhui tries to ignore. “I have never hidden a prisoner from my father until you. I told him that you escaped.”

Junhui’s mind is racing. He should slow this down, but he’s been barreling on, full speed toward a very inevitable conclusion. When Mingyu’s hands lingered warm on his skin in Greece. When Mingyu kissed him in California, aching and hungry.

“Why?” Junhui breathes. 

Mingyu’s smile is soft. “You have done nothing wrong. You are not a spy, and even before you told me, I knew. I knew from the moment I saw you.”

“If you didn’t have to marry her, would Wonwoo be here instead of me?” Junhui asks. He has to know even if the words make Mingyu jolt under his hand. Mingyu stares into his eyes, the lantern casting soft shadows on his face. He’s so beautiful Junhui wants to cry.

“Honestly, I do not know,” Mingyu admits quietly. “I wonder if he would ever give in to what he feels. His duty is to the Kingdom. We have been friends since we were children, but the Crown has always been between us.” He sighs. “Perhaps it is meant to be like this.”

Junhui takes his hand off Mingyu’s face and tucks it behind his head, mirroring Mingyu’s position on the bed. He knows his robe is open. He doesn’t fix it.

“I know that your heart is hurting, Your Highness, but maybe there is something I can do for you. You don’t have to love me, though I can’t help but wonder if you could, if there was more time.”

 _You already did_ , Junhui doesn’t say, can't say.

Mingyu takes Junhui’s hand and lays it on his chest, over his pounding heart. Strong and steady, a little fast.

“Here,” Mingyu whispers, tapping Junhui’s index finger against his chest, “is where I feel so many strange things when I look at you. My heart knows you, Wen Junhui, though I do not know how that is possible.”

Mingyu’s eyes flick down to his lips and Junhui’s entire body burns hot.

“I feel like I have known you for a very long time. We have just met, but it does not feel that way. It is almost like —”

Junhui inches closer. It feels like this is it, the last night, the last time.

“Like we are meant to be? Like you should kiss me?”

Mingyu shudders at the words. “Have you been with a man before, Jun?”

Junhui smirks. “It would be easier to say I have never been with a woman.”

Mingyu’s eyes spark with understanding. His eyes are half-lidded, crimson robes almost matching the flush on his cheeks.

“I will not save myself for her. Not when I can still choose. Can I kiss you? Can I ask you to give me this?”

“You can, Mingyu. You always can. Kiss me, touch me, anything you want. Tonight, I’m yours.”

Mingyu reaches out and lays a hand on Junhui’s arm. They slide closer, yellow and red robes pooling together between them. Junhui tucks Mingyu’s hair behind his ear and Mingyu closes the distance between them. 

There’s almost no hesitation. Mingyu’s lips touch his with the confidence of someone who has been raised since birth to be absolutely certain of themselves. Junhui shivers and presses them closer together. Mingyu makes a small, pleased noise and Junhui feels it soul deep. Death could take him right now and he’d have no objections. Mingyu’s hand moves up his arm and across his chest, his fingers tracing the hem of his inner robe. 

Junhui lets Mingyu be the one to deepen the kiss, moaning softly at the first touch of their tongues. It’s different from California. The desire is there, want simmering hotly in his belly, but Mingyu’s request morphs it from a hungry, animal thing into something softer. Mingyu’s tongue traces his and Junhui wants to give him the world. Instead he does everything in kind, mirroring Mingyu’s touches, the press of his lips, until when they break for air both of their robes are open, black and white silk the only thing separating them. 

Mingyu falls back against the bed and tugs Junhui to follow. He settles Junhui on his hips with feverish hands. Junhui’s hands come to rest on his arms, and god, the strength of Mingyu’s body is always surprising no matter how many times he’s reminded of it.

“If only they had dressed you in red,” Mingyu pants, eyes wide as his hands slide lower on Junhui’s waist, “It would be like our wedding night.”

Junhui’s cock twitches. A soft, desperate kind of noise works its way up his throat. Mingyu’s long hair is fanned out under him, tucked off to the side so it doesn’t get in the way. His black inner robe is parted enough that a sliver of his skin is visible, a golden swell of chest. His red outer robe is open, pooled beneath him. Junhui burns the visual into his mind.

“Your Highness, would you really bow to me? Be honest,” Junhui teases, rolling his hips lightly against Mingyu. Mingyu’s breath catches, hands tightening against Junhui like he can’t decide if he wants to stop him or encourage him.

“No titles here,” Mingyu says, “Just Mingyu is enough.” He inclines his head and Junhui leans down, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Like this, Junhui can feel Mingyu’s erection, half hard against his own. It’s dizzying.

Junhui maps the inside of Mingyu’s mouth with his tongue, desire like a hollow, empty place inside of him. More, more, there will never be enough.

“In another life, perhaps I already have,” Mingyu says against his lips when they break apart, finally answering his question. 

Mingyu has no idea what he’s said, the kind of weight in those words, but Junhui feels like he’s been set on fire. Want and need, the ache in his chest, fondness dangerously close to something he can’t afford to name, swirl together and set him ablaze. 

“With time, perhaps I would bow even here.” Mingyu looks down the line of their bodies and meets Junhui’s eyes with a sly grin. “Is this not a more delicate position for a Prince to be in, though?”

“It can be the other way if you want,” Junhui says even as his dick presses against Mingyu’s body, insistent. 

“I will have you like this,” Mingyu says, final. Absolute. Maybe he’s right, Junhui thinks with a shiver, it’s impossible to fake Royalty.

Junhui kisses Mingyu again, slow and deep while his hand slips inside his inner robe. Mingyu’s skin is impossibly soft, fever hot. He traces the swell of his chest, the indentations of his ribs, his abs, until he’s stopped by the small tie holding his robe closed. Mingyu smiles against his lips and takes his hands away from Junhui long enough to work the tie open for him.

Junhui sits up and Mingyu’s hands make equally quick work of the yellow robe that’s barely hanging on, already slipping off his shoulder by the time he shrugs it off. He balls it up and tosses it off the bed, the white of his inner robe almost jarring pressed against Mingyu’s black one. 

He takes one of Mingyu’s hands and kisses the back of it, looking at him through his lashes, heat pooling low in his groin. Junhui settles himself between his thighs. Mingyu’s robe slips further open as he spreads his legs to accommodate him, breaths coming faster. Junhui can see his cock straining against the silk.

“There’s something we need,” Junhui says, his lips still pressed against Mingyu’s hand. 

Mingyu nods, his pupils wide. He reaches under the pillow he was laying on when Junhui woke up and pulls out a small jar, handing it to Junhui wordlessly. He sets it down next to Mingyu’s leg. 

“This will serve the intended purpose, I think,” Mingyu says, the corner of his mouth twitching. He’s somewhere between excited and nervous. It’s endearing. Junhui’s heart thuds against his ribcage, horribly, terribly fond.

He lets go of Mingyu’s hand and pulls back his inner robe, exposing him inch by inch until he’s bare, skin glowing in the lantern light around them. Mingyu is beautiful. Junhui runs his hand across Mingyu’s stomach almost reverently, eyes torn between watching his face and watching his cock twitch as each finger slides across his skin.

Mingyu makes a soft sound and Junhui’s eyes snap to his face. He props himself up on his elbows and his robes fall down his arms.

“You too, Jun. I should not be the only one revealed like this,” Mingyu says, almost whining. He frees his arms from the pooled fabric but leaves the robes under him, black on red on stark white linen. 

Junhui gives his best dramatic sigh and drags his hand down Mingyu’s thigh before finally taking his hand away and untying his own inner robe. It’s an easy enough thing, a single silk string tied with a bow. Junhui shivers as it opens, and when he looks up Mingyu is right there, on his knees in front of him. Like this they’re practically eye to eye.

“Let me,” Mingyu whispers, his eyes half lidded. His hands make their way to his shoulders, slipping easily under the silk and dragging it down his arms. The feeling of Mingyu’s warm hands and the cool silk sliding down his body have his hips jolting forward, seeking. Mingyu watches his robe fall away with a kind of awe Junhui feels unworthy of, like it really _is_ their wedding night. 

“You are beautiful,” Mingyu says when the silk hits the bed. Junhui’s face burns at the praise. Mingyu cups his cheek and kisses him, and he’s well practiced now, licking into Junhui’s mouth with the familiarity of a long time lover. Junhui can feel Mingyu straining against his thigh, precum streaking across his skin. He moans into Mingyu’s mouth and slams their hips together, grinding as much of them together as he can, hands on his hips to encourage a rhythm. 

Mingyu puts a hand on his chest and Junhui’s entire body sparks with heat. Their kisses turn filthy, Junhui nipping at Mingyu’s bottom lip and Mingyu’s tongue dragging across his wetly. He maps Junhui’s body slowly, the dip under his pectoral, across each nipple, down his stomach, and lower, hand splaying across his hip bone, lower still, until his fingers find the base of his cock. 

“Here, too,” Mingyu whispers against his lips, taking Junhui into his hand. Junhui gasps in a breath and Mingyu moves back enough to take him in, working his hand along Junhui’s cock and watching the way his body reacts. It feels like the most intimate thing Junhui has ever done, like Mingyu is seeing all the way inside of him, down to his soul, touching him in places that no one has even bothered to look before.

Junhui lets his own hands travel lower, down the swell of Mingyu’s ass, up the front of his thighs, dances his fingers along the length of his cock. Mingyu’s hips stutter at the touch and Junhui grins. 

“I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” Junhui says. He takes Mingyu’s cock in his hand and strokes. Mingyu groans, his eyes slipping closed and his own hand stilling. “Tell me what you want, Mingyu. I’ll give you anything.” _I’ll give you everything_ , but he can’t say it.

Junhui kisses a line up Mingyu’s neck, peppering kisses along his jaw before connecting their lips again, his hand holding the same slow rhythm on his cock. All he wants is Mingyu’s taste, Mingyu’s hands, for as long as he can have him. When they break apart this time Mingyu is flushed all the way down his chest. He gives Junhui a beautifully devilish smile.

“ _I want you to fuck me_ ,” he says in Mandarin. 

Junhui groans and kisses him, messy and desperate, tightening his grip on Mingyu’s cock until he whines into his mouth. It’s something about the way his voice sounds when he speaks in Junhui’s mother tongue, like forbidden fruit. It’s too good, and if Mingyu keeps doing it he’s going to have a very hard time getting to the actual fucking.

Junhui presses him back against the mattress and Mingyu goes willingly. He breaks the kiss and takes his hand off Mingyu’s cock to rest against his inner thigh. Mingyu spreads his legs wider and Junhui gets comfortable in the space he makes for him. The jar of oil opens easily enough. Junhui dips two fingers in and Mingyu watches him hungrily, lip caught between his teeth. 

He sets the jar on the floor, and even if it’s a little too far away for convenience Junhui at least knows they won’t knock it over. He takes some of the extra on his other hand and wraps it around Mingyu’s cock, the slide slick and easy. Mingyu’s hands twist in the sheets as Junhui presses a finger to his rim, rubbing gently, teasing more than anything. He can’t bring himself to ask if Mingyu has done this to himself before, but he imagines that if he has, he could probably count the number of times on one hand.

“Are you ready?” Junhui asks breathlessly, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. Mingyu moans and nods, three quick jerks of his head. 

Junhui presses his finger inside and it feels like time stops, just like when he hops from one time to another. Like he’s falling, except he’s falling into the tight heat of Mingyu’s body. His breath shudders out of him. Mingyu’s breath hitches, like an echo, like a mirror. His eyes flutter closed and Junhui works his finger in slowly. 

Mingyu spreads his thighs wider and Junhui thrusts his finger faster, pumping Mingyu’s cock to match. The second finger slips in and Mingyu moans, loud and lewd and Junhui is sure there are guards outside of his door that can hear everything. The idea of it makes him dizzy, blood rushing to his cock, fire licking every cell in his body until he’s burning alive. Mingyu starts thrusting up into his hand and Junhui can’t help but smirk. He twists his fingers inside, crooks them up and —

Mingyu gasps, spine bowing off the mattress, some whispered version of his name falling from his lips. There it is.

Junhui is careful to let his fingers brush across that spot inside of him only occasionally. Mingyu whines every time, looks down the line of his body at Junhui, eyes glazed and half lidded. Junhui knows he’s ruined. Nothing will ever compare to this.

When he slips a third finger in he takes his hand off Mingyu’s cock and replaces it with his mouth, swallowing down as much of him as he can at once. Mingyu’s hands fly to his hair, tightening in the strands and Junhui feels like he could really come untouched. His hips jolt at the feeling, a desperate need for friction. Mingyu is reduced to moans, _Jun_ and _please_ the only words he manages to catch. 

He looks up through his lashes and meets Mingyu’s eyes. His chest is flushed, lips bitten and red, glistening under the lantern light. Junhui sears every second of it into his mind. He takes his mouth off Mingyu’s cock.

“God Jun, you make me feel —”

“You’re amazing, you’re perfect,” Junhui says softly, pressing into Mingyu’s prostate for emphasis. Mingyu throws his head back, chest heaving. His cock twitches between them, wet from Junhui’s mouth. The taste of his precum lingers on his tongue.

When he finally pulls his fingers out Mingyu is somewhere between blissed out pleasure and impatience. 

“Must you take your time like this?” Mingyu huffs. Junhui reaches for the oil on the floor, dipping his fingers in and stroking them over his cock. He hisses at the contact, almost this side of too much. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Junhui groans out. He tightens his hand around himself and strokes faster. He gives in, just a little, to the pleasure of his own body. “And if you ever do this again you’ll thank me.”

Mingyu wraps a leg around his hips and pulls him closer. Junhui goes willingly, lining himself up with Mingyu’s entrance.

“Shall we switch places next time?” Mingyu asks. The corner of his lip is turned up in something a little too cocky for the way Junhui is about to fuck him. “I can show you everything I have learned.” Mingyu tugs at Junhui’s arm until he leans down and props his weight on his hands. The angle presses him against Mingyu tighter. “The student proving himself to the master.”

Junhui smirks. “The night is young, _Seja_. There’s time for that and more.”

He kisses Mingyu, pours every ounce of feeling swirling around in his chest into it, and slowly pushes inside.

Mingyu reaches blindly for his hand and laces their fingers together next to his head. Junhui takes it slow, the slide slick but still tight. He makes a soft, muffled sound, curling his tongue around Mingyu’s as he sinks in deeper, breaking the kiss when he finally bottoms out.

Mingyu’s eyes are wide, pitch black in the lantern light. Junhui can feel the pounding of his heart under his chest, his breaths fast and a little shaky. Junhui is torn between wanting to fuck Mingyu until he can’t move and wanting to make love to him until he sees stars.

“Just breathe, you’re doing so well,” Junhui murmurs. He rubs his thumb across the back of Mingyu’s hand. Mingyu wills his body to relax under him but tightens his grip on Junhui’s hand. He doesn’t mind. “You’re not in pain, are you?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “No, it does not hurt.” He takes another deep breath and relaxes against the bed. “It’s very...intense. I just need a moment.”

Junhui smiles and he can feel the fondness radiating like sunlight. It’s okay, just this once. He can let it out here, in this bed, on this one night. He slips his hand between them and strokes Mingyu’s cock, drinking in the way he arches into the touch, hips jolting enough that they both moan. It doesn’t take much longer, the twist of his wrist, a thumb across the head and Mingyu digs his heel into Junhui’s back.

“Jun, please, I’m ready, you can —”

Junhui braces his hand on the bed, pulls out and thrusts into Mingyu in one fluid motion. Static crackles his vision and Mingyu keens. 

“God yes,” Mingyu grins and Junhui doesn’t waste time, fucks Mingyu as deep as he can, desperate for release even as he dreads the end. 

Mingyu rolls his hips against him, like even all of Junhui inside of him is not enough. _It’s the same, for me_ , Junhui thinks, an echo in Mingyu’s voice. He buries his face in the crook of his neck and thrusts faster. Mingyu’s soft pants and breathy noises are like arrows to the heart, hitting their mark with devastating accuracy every time, killing blows. _Marriage is a kind of death_ , Junhui thinks absently. He kisses his way up to Mingyu’s mouth, lets go of his hand to cup his cheek. He slows down until he’s grinding inside of him, slow and tortuous. Every part of him wants release. He can feel Mingyu’s cock dragging across his belly, wet streaks of precum staining his skin. 

He kisses Mingyu once more, a quick peck on his lips and gets up on his knees, stroking Mingyu’s cock with one hand, a tight grip on Mingyu’s hip with the other. Staring down at Mingyu flushed and open, the blood red robes pooled underneath him like so much blood, it really feels like a death, like the end of all things. Tomorrow they will wake up and they will not be who they were before. Junhui bites his lip and strokes Mingyu faster, desperation winning out.

“I want to see you,” Junhui grits out, hips slamming into Mingyu for emphasis. “Let go, Mingyu. Come for me.”

Mingyu tips his head back, his eyes squeezed shut as a shudder of pleasure wracks his body. His muscles tense, his cock impossibly harder in Junhui’s palm. He slams into his prostate once, twice, and Mingyu comes with a drawn out moan, spilling over Junhui’s hand and onto his stomach. 

It’s beautiful. Arousal pools under his navel and Junhui fucks Mingyu faster, working him through it while chasing his own release. He’s so close he can almost taste it. Mingyu’s body tightens around him and their eyes meet, Mingyu’s sated and warm as he comes down. 

“ _You too,_ _Xingan. I want to see you come undone_ ,” Mingyu says in Mandarin, and Junhui does. He pulls out and barely has time to wrap a hand around himself as he comes, his body shaking with the force of it. 

This, too. In French they call it a little death. He learned it at university, a random fact his History professor wheedled into one of their lessons. Junhui feels it, his vision going hazy, his muscles tensing. He feels it in the way Mingyu rises up to meet him, ignoring the mess of come sliding down his skin just so he can kiss Junhui. He wraps his hand around him and strokes him through the last aftershocks. 

When they break apart Mingyu is beaming. He rubs their noses together and Junhui’s hands tangle in his long black hair. 

“How do you feel?” Junhui asks. They’re both breathing hard, chests heaving like they’ve outrun a predator. 

“Though I have nothing to go by, I think you are quite good at this,” Mingyu says. His eyes flash with mischief and Junhui wants to wrap him up and kiss him until they run out of air. Instead, he takes his own inner robe and wipes the mess off Mingyu’s skin. When their eyes meet again Mingyu is blushing and Junhui knows he’s absolutely done for. “It was better than I imagined, when I allowed myself to imagine. Thank you.”

Mingyu tosses the mess of robes to the floor. He slides under the blankets and Junhui joins him. There are so many things he wants to say. _I’m sorry. I hope your wedding night is bearable. I hope it’s love at first sight. I would trade everything for your happiness._

Mingyu pulls him closer so they’re face to face, curled toward each other like flowers to the sun. 

“You don’t have to thank me. I wanted you, too, you know,” Junhui pouts. Mingyu laughs and pulls him in closer, kissing him languidly. 

“How do you know that word?” Junhui asks when they break apart. _Xingan._ Just thinking about it makes his face hot. “I doubt that’s something your tutors would share with you.”

“No, it is not something I was ever taught.” Mingyu gives him a tiny, secret smile. “It was like I heard it in a dream. I had to search my texts for a long time to find the meaning.” His eyes flash, warm, then hot as he leans down to plant open mouth kisses to Junhui’s neck. “Tonight you are mine, and I am yours, _Xingan._ I cannot think of anything else I should call you in this moment.”

He can feel Mingyu growing hard against his thigh. Junhui grins and reconnects their lips, tugging at him until Mingyu hovers over him. Arousal cuts through him like a knife.

“Are you ready to show me what you learned?” Junhui pants, giving Mingyu his best bedroom eyes.

Mingyu’s mouth twitches up and he nods, diving back down to kiss him. He did say the night was young, after all.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

He’s woken up by Mingyu’s lips, soft and warm against his. He blinks awake with a groan. Mingyu smiles down at him. He’s dressed in a yellow robe embroidered with a crane, mid flight. Junhui’s heart aches. The sun has barely cracked above the horizon.

“I must go now and meet my fate. I will never forget you, Wen Junhui,” Mingyu whispers. His eyes shine with unshed tears. “Though it feels as if I never did. Perhaps in a past life, I made the same promise.”

Junhui bites the inside of his cheek. He cannot cry, not yet. Not when Mingyu is trying so hard to be strong.

 _In Greece, you called me something my watch couldn’t translate_ , Junhui wants to say. _I still haven’t found out what it means._

“You will make a fine King,” Junhui says. He sits up and Mingyu lingers next to the bed, reluctant to begin his journey. Junhui can’t really blame him.

“Where will you go?” Mingyu asks. He glances down at Junhui’s open robes, the sliver of his bare skin peeking through. 

“Somewhere I can’t be found.” Junhui huffs a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll do a better job of hiding this time, Your Highness.”

Mingyu reaches down and straightens his robes, smooths them against his chest. His hands are warm even though Junhui is still half under the blankets.

“I am your Crown Prince. You cannot die, Wen Junhui. Even if you are captured, you must live. That is my order to you.”

Junhui pulls him down by the back of the neck and crashes their lips together. Desire pulses through his veins. To be closer, to be one. 

He just has to stay out of Minghao’s hands a little longer.

“I hope that she’s nice. I hope she treats you well,” Junhui pants when they break apart. He blinks and a tear trails down his cheek. Neither of them pay it any mind.

“That is all I hope for as well.”

Mingyu runs a hand through Junhui’s hair, stares at him hard, like he’s searing him into his mind. He leaves and as the door slides shut Junhui feels his heart crack in two.

He waits until the sound of hooves fade into the distance before he slides out of the blankets. Both watches back in place, he flicks the dial absently. There is nowhere he wants to go, but he has to leave. There is a commotion outside. He knows it’s Minghao before he sees the shadow of black at the door. He’s barely been here three days. Minghao is closing in faster every time. It feels almost suffocating.

Junhui closes his eyes. He pictures Mingyu, crimson and black robes spread underneath him, the way he said Junhui’s name, the way he kissed him goodbye. He takes a breath, spins the dial, and vanishes.

~⧗~⧗~⧗~⧗~

He’s barely in Oregon for an hour before Minghao appears. He ditched the silk robes in England, exchanged them for trousers and a button down shirt. The fabric is scratchy, and he hopes he can find some comfortable clothes before the end. 

The end. He can feel it

Minghao watches him like a wolf stalking his prey. Junhui flicks the dial on his watch and vanishes.

He knows he’s back in 2017 before he even opens his eyes. It’s almost like he can sense himself, his own afterimage in time. The coffee shop is a few blocks away. He runs toward campus and sneaks into the bookstore to steal a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, hoping he’ll blend in. He runs as fast as he can across the quad. 

He wonders where exactly he’s headed. It’s the thought that Mingyu might see him, might ask him where he ran off to, why he left, that stops Junhui in his tracks. He takes a gasping breath, eyes searching the quad like Mingyu will appear right in front of him. What month is it? Is Mingyu still a student here? What will he say if he sees Junhui now?

He takes five steps before he’s tackled into the grass.

Minghao cuffs his hands behind his back with practiced ease. Junhui screams, thrashing against Minghao’s hold. There’s the crackle of electricity, a loud zap that echoes in his ears, and then, darkness.


	8. 2047

The cuffs are still around his wrists. The metal bites, chafing. Junhui wants to rub at the raw skin. He wants to go back to California. The cabin. The palace.

The room is all metal. A steel door, a two way mirror, an ice cold steel tabletop. It’s unnecessary, really. He’s a criminal. He’s evaded capture. They think he knows where Hyungwon is. He doesn’t. It’s not a place he could get to even if he tried. Hyungwon told him the other dial on his watch will take him there, but he doesn’t trust it. He’s never thought to try, and now it’s too late.

There is a clock hanging on the wall. The second hand ticks loudly, and Junhui wonders if it’s some kind of torture technique. These are the seconds you’ve been sitting here. These are the seconds you’ve spent without him.

Junhui is staring at the table, his reflection distorted in the shiny metal, when the door finally creaks open. The air changes instantly. The hairs on his arms stand straight up and he bodily shudders. It’s like watching a thriller. Don’t look. Don’t look. His body is warning him. 

Junhui looks up.

Wen Junhui is handcuffed to a steel table in an interrogation room in 2047.

Kim Mingyu is dressed in a sleek black suit, looking every bit like the time travel authority that he is. He walks into the room and sits in the chair across from him.

Junhui snorts, then he chuckles, then he’s laughing so hard he can hardly breathe. He doubles over, laughs and laughs with his head between his knees because there is no way that Mingyu is sitting across from him.

Mingyu is quiet. He probably thinks Junhui has lost it, that sitting in this room has cracked him and he won’t even have to interrogate him. Junhui eventually pulls himself together. He leans his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his hands.

“Kim Mingyu,” Junhui says. Mingyu, his hand coming up to rest on the table, freezes. His eyes are huge. “I was told you were dead.”

“How do you know my name?” Mingyu asks. His eyes roam over Junhui’s face, searching. 

Junhui is used to this, now. It’s been the same every time. He smirks.

“You work with Minghao but he never told you? You _really_ don’t know who I am?”

Mingyu ignores his question and reaches for the manilla folder on the table between them with a frown. It’s funny how some things never change. Maybe investigators use technology to gather information, but they can’t let go of the folder of evidence.

“Wen Junhui, you are charged with illegal time travel, conspiring with Wanted Criminal Chae Hyungwon, and evading capture.” Mingyu ignores his question, eyes skimming over the top page. “You’re looking at something worse than a life sentence.”

Junhui feels very much like a glass dropped from a high shelf, cracked and barely holding together. 

Mingyu is dead. Hyungwon told him as much. Eliminated.. 

Mingyu is _here_ , in 2047, staring across the table at him and all Junhui can think about is how he thought he’d never see him again.

Hyungwon is worse than he could have ever imagined. 

Mingyu flips to the second page and drops the folder on the table. Staring back at them is Mingyu in 2017, walking out of his dorm room the first day they met. Junhui doesn’t ask how there is evidence like this. It doesn’t really change anything, anyway. 

“That’s — why does that look like me?” Mingyu asks, a hoarse whisper. His hands are trembling slightly but he wills them still.

“The first time,” Junhui says, resting his head on his hand again, “was an accident. I found the watch in an alley. I pushed the button on the side, and I ended up in exactly the same place. Only the year was 2017.”

Mingyu stares down at the picture. 

“I met someone who was kinder to me than my own family, but I think that’s just how people were back then. He took me in, he cooked for me, he told me he had the strangest feeling that we’d met before.”

Mingyu pulls the pictures out and flips through them one by one. Junhui already knows what they are. He can picture every scene clearly in his mind. Mingyu’s dorm. The cabin. The beach. He has to take several deep breaths before he can continue.

“Hyungwon found me. He made a deal with me. I was already a wanted criminal at that point, so there was no reason I shouldn’t work for him, not when he could give me anything.”

“You think he has that kind of power?” Mingyu asks, eyebrows drawn down. “Isn’t it more likely that he was using you?”

Junhui sighs and leans back in the chair. “I know he was, but I still believe that he has the power to alter time. You should know, too. I remember the articles. My parents remember what he did to his so-called friends back then.”

Mingyu holds up a hand. 

“Why am I in all of these photos?” Mingyu looks up and meets his eyes. “Explain it to me. Were you targeting me?”

Junhui’s breath catches. “You think that, what, that I was trying to kill you or something? Mingyu, I never _meant_ to find you, but no matter where I went, I always ran into you.”

Junhui’s hands are clenched on the table, nails digging into his palms. He glances down at Mingyu’s lips, a plea.

“Can you really sit here and tell me that you don’t feel like we’ve met before?” he whispers.

“I —” Mingyu cuts himself off. His chair scrapes against the floor as he moves to get as far away from Junhui as he can. Junhui bites his lip to keep from smiling. It’s as good as an admission.

Mingyu stares at the two way mirror for a long time. There’s a tiny earpiece behind his ear. Junhui can hear the faint static of it in the silence that follows. After a while Mingyu nods and walks around the table to Junhui’s side. He presses a button on his watch and the cuffs around his wrist fall to the table.

He doesn’t make eye contact when he sits back down. It’s heavy, like Junhui swallowed rocks, choking.

“Your sentence,” Mingyu starts. His voice is hoarse, like he’s choking too. He clears his throat and pulls a syringe with light blue liquid out of his coat pocket. “You will be injected with this. It’s dosed just enough to erase your memories from the past few months.”

Junhui feels the blood drain from his face.

“Erase?” he rubs the skin of his wrists absently. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry. “No.”Junhui shakes his head, panic bubbling to the surface. “ _No_. I won’t agree to this. They can’t take my memories. I won’t let them.”

Mingyu sighs, tired. There are dark circles under his eyes and Junhui wants to get up, walk around the table and wrap his arms around his shoulders. He wants to kiss him better. The difference this time is that Mingyu doesn’t want him to.

Mingyu stands up, and the syringe is so small in his hand, so huge in Junhui’s eyes. He walks around the table and Junhui stands up so fast that the chair clatters to the floor. He backs up, and Mingyu follows him step for step. A dance with a definite ending.

“ _Mingyu_ ,” Junhui gasps as his back hits the wall. His chest aches. He feels like he can hardly breathe. “Mingyu _please_. You can’t. You _can’t_ —” Junhui can’t _breathe_. He’s sucking in air but it does him no good.

Mingyu rubs his thumb across his cheek with his free hand, wiping away tears Junhui didn’t even realize were falling. 

“Junhui,” Mingyu says. His full name. It breaks his heart in two. “This is the only way to keep you alive. If you don’t agree to this, the higher ups will have no choice but to eliminate you.”

Junhui shakes his head, over and over and over. _Erase_ his memories? Erase everything that’s happened since he found the watch? Mingyu presses in closer and suddenly they are connected from knee to chest. It’s so comforting Junhui almost forgets that some part of him will die no matter the outcome.

“ _Listen to me_ ,” Mingyu says. He cages Junhui in, hands on either side of his head. “Junhui.” He tilts his head closer, whispering in Junhui’s ear. “If they eliminate you, that’s it. Do you understand? There will never be another you, _ever_. I can’t, I don’t —”

Junhui takes a shuddering breath and squeezes his eyes shut. Is Mingyu really saying —

“What you asked me earlier. If I feel like we’ve met before. I’ve never seen you in my life but the thought of losing you...I can’t let that happen.” Mingyu looks up and it’s like staring into the sun, blinding and raw, painful but warm, like coming home. “Are those memories really more important than your soul?”

_You cannot die, Wen Junhui. That is my order to you._

He can’t possibly keep this promise.

There aren’t words to explain this to Mingyu. Junhui knows that it’s useless to try. _I see the beautiful ocean in Greece, the lantern lit bed in Joseon. Pieces of him are always with me._

“I love him,” Junhui whispers, confession like lead in his stomach, like jumping off a diving platform, heavy but freeing. “I love him, always. Every time. Everywhere. I’m in love with Kim Mingyu.” He reaches up and rests his hands on Mingyu’s shoulders. “I know that means nothing to you. We’re strangers, but I know you, _I’ve known you_. I can’t erase that.”

“It’s like deja vu,” Mingyu says, still whispering, “When I saw your face, it was like your name was already in my mind before I even read it on your file.” Junhui’s eyes brim over with tears. “There are some things that can’t be erased, Jun. Just, please. I _can’t_.”

Junhui takes another shuddering breath. Mingyu is still pressed against him. He slides his fingers through the hair at Mingyu’s nape. To give up love, give up everything, or die.

Mingyu’s eyes flash with heat. He leans down and kisses him, and Junhui feels every bit like a man starved. He practically sobs into Mingyu’s mouth, tightening his hands against his neck and pulling Mingyu as tightly against him as he can. There will never be enough of this. Junhui knows, remembers every time he has even brushed hands with Mingyu. He’s so broad, a solid comfort against him. Mingyu tilts his head, hands cupping his face delicately, like Junhui is made of glass. 

Mingyu’s hands slide down slowly, a trail of heat everywhere they touch. His neck, chest, waist, Junhui is burning alive. His fingers tug at Mingyu’s hair as their tongues meet, and Junhui knows, without a doubt, that he would rather stop existing than give up Kim Mingyu.

When they break apart Mingyu rests their foreheads together. His eyes are shut and both of them are panting, breathing the same air. Junhui feels dizzy, consumed fully.

He opens his mouth to speak and feels a prick of pain in his abdomen, warmth spreading quickly through his body. 

Mingyu opens his eyes and now _he’s_ the one with tears, eyelashes wet and heavy with them. Junhui wants to push him away, wants to soothe the ache in his heart, but he knows it’s already too late.

“No. Mingyu. No. _Please_.” Junhui can’t breathe. He’s nearly hyperventilating. His head falls forward on to Mingyu’s shoulder. He’s so warm, so tired, suddenly. “Mingyu. _Mingyu_ —”

Mingyu pets the back of his head soothingly, fingers running through the fine strands of his hair. “It’s going to be okay, Junhui. You’re okay. I promise.”

Junhui shakes his head weakly, forces his head up to meet Mingyu’s eyes. He wonders, absently, if this is what Mingyu meant on the practice field, arrow notched and eyes on the target.

They say that soulmates were originally one person, that the gods split them in two so they would be weaker, forced to spend eternity searching for their other half. It feels like that now, like Junhui is being ripped open, bloody and forceful. He gasps in a breath. His eyelids are so heavy. He’s going to fall asleep soon.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, Junhui. I won’t forget you. I’ll never forget you.”

Junhui says Mingyu’s name under his breath, an incantation, a prayer to the gods, until his eyes slip closed and blackness swallows him up.


	9. Epilogue

_Do you know how it ends?  
_ _Do you feel lucky?  
_ _Do you want to go home now?  
_ _-Richard Siken_

  
  
  
  


It’s a warm summer day in 2047. Junhui is walking down the street when a flash of something catches his attention. He stops in front of an alley between an old coffee shop and an apartment complex and stares into the dimness. It’s the strangest thing, really. It _feels_ like he should be seeing something, a piece of jewelry, maybe a ring. There’s nothing but asphalt and a few garbage cans.

His eyes are still caught in the alley when he starts walking again, and it’s not until he runs into someone’s back that his eyes are torn away.

“I’m so sorry,” Junhui rushes out, eyes downcast.

It’s the scent that pulls his eyes up. Junhui can’t tell what it is, probably some expensive cologne, but it smells so familiar it makes his head spin.

 _Home_.

Junhui looks up and the man he’s bumped into turns around. He’s dressed business casual, navy button down and gray slacks. His smile is charming, almost boyish. He runs a hand through his warm brown hair like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“It’s no problem at all,” the man says. 

His eyes have the same feeling. _Home_. Junhui has never felt like this before. He realizes he’s staring and clears his throat.

“I wasn’t paying attention. I’m uh,” Junhui says, barely able to form a coherent thought. He trails off again, and the man in front of him waits patiently for him to finish. Junhui finally holds out his hand. 

“I’m Wen Junhui, or Jun if you want.”

The man takes his hand. It’s warm. _Home_.

“Kim Mingyu.”

Junhui suddenly feels like he’s falling, like he’s tripped over air. It’s the strangest sense of deja vu.

“Mingyu, I’m, well, this is probably a strange question. Have we, uh, have we met before?” Junhui asks when Mingyu lets go of his hand. “I get the strangest feeling that I know you from somewhere.”

Mingyu stares at him for a long time, the softest hint of a smile on his lips.

“I do come to this coffee shop a lot. Maybe we’ve bumped into each other.”

Junhui sees a flash of something, Mingyu superimposed with an old college hoodie, sitting in a dorm room. He shakes the image from his mind. 

“Is that where you’re headed?” Junhui asks.

Mingyu nods. 

“Let me buy your coffee then, as an apology.” Junhui’s face feels like it's on fire. He hopes he’s not blushing. Mingyu is _really_ good looking. He probably looks like some infatuated university freshman meeting his hot TA for the first time.

“That would be great, Jun,” Mingyu says, smile turning sharp at the corners. Like he knows a secret, like Junhui has done something amusing and doesn’t know it. 

If they knew each other better, he’d smack his shoulder and roll his eyes. He kind of thinks he should, anyway. Mingyu leads the way and Junhui follows. It feels like something clicks into place, but Junhui can’t put his finger on why.

Maybe running to Kim Mingyu was just something he was supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking through to the end. I hope you enjoyed this little time travel adventure!!
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/woncheoling) // [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/tsukkitaeil)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [jade pieces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29292576) by [figure8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8)




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